Ashtrays and Heartbreaks
by IrisCandy
Summary: "You know, when I wanted to get into a room alone with Lydia Martin, this was not what I meant." Feelings are put to the test when Stiles and Lydia are kidnapped by an unstable pack of Betas. Story starts off after Jackson transforms into a werewolf in 2x12. Multi-perspective story, mostly Stiles/Lydia but some appearances from other characters.
1. Chapter 1: Followed

**Disclaimer: I promise, I don't own any of these characters or Teen Wolf or anything even affiliated with Teen Wolf. They all belong to their rightful owners and creators, so please don't sue me. The original characters, however, are mine. **

**Author's Note: Alright, so this is my first Teen Wolf fanfic, so I hope I don't screw up any of the characters (though I'm usually pretty good with the characterization.) I was totally craving some Stiles!Whump but I also need some more Stiles/Lydia in my life and so this story was born. Forgive me if the plot isn't that good, but I needed some kind of story to create so that I can fit in some fluffy moments and whump. So here it is, and please please please review! It would make me very happy but also improve the story. Thanks, enjoy!**

Lydia stood rooted to the floor, her whole body shaking with adrenaline and fear. She felt the stickiness of dried tears on her face, but as she watched Jackson transform, fresh ones burned behind her eyes. For a moment, she thought that the key hadn't worked, and that her boyfriend was once again turning in to a monster.

But this was different. There was no scaly skin crawling over his naked body. There were no long, poisonous claws growing from the tips of his fingers. No, Jackson remained human for now - a pale, muscular creature rising before her.

And she knew what he was before his eyes had turned a crisp, vibrant blue.

Jackson was a werewolf, and when he turned his now fur-covered face and looked her in the eyes, she knew she had lost him. As Lydia saw an unfamiliar glint in his neon blue eyes, she knew that his lust for power was stronger than his lust for her. She was just a memory now, a faded photograph.

As the key she had given back to him only moments before lay abandoned on the ground, Jackson ran. He left Lydia like she was nothing to him anymore, even if she had told him she loved him and that she always would.

And he still left. He ran in to the night like the animal he had become, and Lydia stayed, broken and humiliated, surrounded by friends and yet feeling so alone.

She didn't know how long she had been standing there before she felt a hand on her arm. She turned and saw Stiles, who had apparently tried very hard to mask his tears but only ended up smudging them on his face, looking at her insistently. No words were spoken. Lydia only let Stiles guide her to his scratched up Jeep, and she easily complied when he opened the passenger side door for her.

As they drove away, Lydia could see Scott and Allison drop their hands that they had been holding only moments before. Those who didn't know Lydia would have only thought that she would resent Scott and Allison's mended relationship, when in fact, her heart soared a little at the sight of the two. She hoped that _something _good would come out of this mess.

Lydia didn't look at Stiles, and she was thankful that he didn't ask her any questions or try to start conversation, which must have been quite the task for Stiles Stilinski. She stared at the blurring streetlights outside and started to count backwards from 1000, which she did when she needed to fall asleep with a mind that wouldn't shut up.

_I mean, werewolves? Kanimas? In Beacon Hills? _Really?

Lydia was startled from sleep by someone shaking her by the shoulder.

She groaned and tried to focus through her disorientation. Stiles. Stiles was shaking her arm, leaning over her from the driver's seat. She opened her mouth to speak, but he pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes wide.

"Someone's following us," he whispered. "Has been for like fifteen minutes now."

"Stiles, you're paranoid," Lydia replied. She really wasn't up for anymore paranoia.

Stiles shook his head, incredulous. "You just saw your boyfriend transform from a giant lizard in to a fucking _werewolf_ and you're calling me paranoid?"

Lydia winced a little at the term _boyfriend_.

"Sorry," Stiles said, sheepishly.

Lydia shook it off and looked around herself. The car was stopped, but she didn't recognize where she was due to the darkness outside.

"Where are we?" she asked. They were both still whispering, as if they would wake some unknown thing if their voices were too loud.

"Some parking lot. If this guy is really following us, he's gonna have to get out of his car and face me," said Stiles determinedly. This newfound courage kind of surprised Lydia after hearing Stiles scream for a minute straight after Jacks- the Kanima jumped on to his car's windshield.

"How do you even know he was following you? Did you ever consider he was just _driving in the same direction as you_? " Lydia asked.

"I'm not gonna take that sarcasm personally. You know why? Because I know you only get this snappy when you're upset," said Stiles.

Even in the dark, Lydia could see Stiles flush as he realized what he just said. And she flushed as well, because as much as she wanted to dismiss that comment as creepy and stalkerish, she felt a warmth in her heart that she only got when someone saw passed the shell she wore.

Now that she thought about it, she felt the same warmth when Stiles had recognized her intelligence that night they went to the winter formal together.

"_...I know that somewhere inside that cold, lifeless exterior...there's an actual human soul. And I'm also pretty sure that I'm the only one who knows how smart you really are, and that once you're done pretending to be a nitwit, you'll eventually go off and write some insane mathematical theorem that wins you the Nobel Prize." _

_"Fields Medal." _

_"What?"_

_"Nobel doesn't have a prize for mathematics. A Fields Medal is the one I'll be winning." _

But they pretended the comment never happened, anyways.

"Can I just go home, please?" Lydia asked, but she was cut off by Stiles' urgent "SHH!"

She didn't hear anything, but she could also see the blood fade from his face, his finger poised in the air like it will help him listen.

And that's when a large black palm smashed down on Lydia's window and she screamed.

The hand was cracking the glass, but Stiles was already up and running to the other side of the car with a large metal object while Lydia scrambled out of her seatbelt and climbed over to the driver's seat.

She climbed out of the car and looked over the roof of the car to see Stiles smack the large black guy on the back of the head with a tire iron. She screamed again as she saw him slump to the ground.

Stiles' eyes were wide and he was swallowing like crazy, the tire iron still poised over the guy's slumped body that Lydia could no longer see over the roof of the car.

And then Stiles was grinning, swinging the tire iron around. "That's right, douche bag! Follow Stiles Stilinski in your sketchy white van and you get _tire ironed_."

Lydia's heart was still beating a mile a minute, but she also managed to roll her eyes at the typical Stiles' behavior. She could feel hysterical laughter bubbling in her stomach because not only did her boyfriend just turn in to a werewolf, but she was also just attacked by a large black guy who could crack a window with his _palm_.

But that's when her heart jolted a little bit, because could someone - a regular human being - really break a window with hardly any muscle power?

"Stiles, I think we should go. Get away from him, I mean," Lydia said slowly.

Stiles stopped smiling and swinging the tire iron around at the tone of her voice. "Don't you think we should call the cops or something? He tried to attack you."

Lydia moved over to the other side of the car to take a closer look at the guy. He looked unconscious, but she had a feeling he wasn't. Her and Stiles started some kind of telepathic conversation using their eyes. Stiles was looking at her with furrowed eyebrows, but as she stared back at him, his eyes were widening slightly.

And then they were backing away, Stiles taking her arm and pulling her back with him until they were scrambling back inside the car, Lydia getting in the backseat so as to avoid having to cross paths with the guy on the ground. When she looked outside the window, her heart plummeted, because she was right.

He was a werewolf with incredibly sharp teeth and glowing eyes. And he was right behind Stiles.

The black-skinned werewolf raised a clawed hand and as Lydia tried to scream Stiles' name, he brought it down across his back, a long gash from shoulder blade to waist. Stiles made some kind of screaming, strangled noise that Lydia could hear through the open driver's door and cracked passenger window. Instead of falling forward though, Stiles gripped the roof of the car and turned himself around to face the werewolf. Lydia could see his back drenched in red as Stiles looked up at his attacker.

As Lydia watched in horror as the werewolf was about to bring his claws down on Stiles throat, she heard a female's voice. It was muffled, but she heard her words clear enough.

"NO! Don't kill him. Drug them both and get them in the van. And would you hurry up? They're gonna be pissed if we're late."

Her thoughts were cut short as the door was torn open and her scream caught in her throat as a cloth was pressed down on her nose and mouth. She didn't struggle for long as she felt her muscles melt and saw spots dancing before her eyes. Her head became light as air, and soon enough, her vision faded to black.


	2. Chapter 2: Chokehold

**Author's Note: Okay, so I got a little excited with this story. I went and wrote another chapter. This is sort of an introduction to the new characters I added, and also some foreshadowing of what's to come. Next chapter will probably include a lot of whump (physically and emotionally), so if you like that kind of thing, stick around. PLEASE REVIEW! I'll give you a cookie if you do.**

Stiles had been awake for five minutes and was completely confused as to why his head felt like a bag of sand and his back felt like it was on fire and why he was sitting on cold cement. He figured it out though.

As he looked around the room, he realized that he was in some kind of prison cell. It was the size of one, at least, with cement walls and floors and a door with bars on the small window. A window way high up the back wall and barred as well was letting in bright sunlight that burned his eyes. Everything was filthy with dust and dirt and smelt like cigarettes.

As for furniture, there was an old wheel chair like the ones they use in hospitals sitting by the door, but there were holes in it and it looked a couple thousand years old. There was a small cot in the corner which was currently occupied by a girl, 5 foot 3, strawberry blonde hair. Lydia.

Stiles tried to panic, because he was locked in some kind of fucking ghost prison, and he had to piss really bad, and Lydia was unconscious on the bed and-

But no, his back burned like a bitch when he tried to scramble up from his spot huddled in the corner of the cell. He lifted up his shirt and saw that bandages were wrapped around his torso with the same kind of care and precision that Scott's Mom would use on him or patients that were wounded.

Stiles vaguely remembered the werewolf scratching the shit out of his back, but that memory was mostly muddled by pain. He remembered the guy pressing a cloth to his mouth and nose and making him suck up whatever drug they soaked it in, and he remembered thinking only about what would happen to Lydia.

And there she was, perfectly fine - well, as fine as you could be after being shoved in to a prison cell by wolves - lying on the bed.

As if she could hear his thinking, Lydia made a groaning noise and immediately her face, which had been peaceful before, scrunched up in pain as she clutched at her head.

"Ugh...what the hell?" she mumbled weakly as she opened her eyes and squinted at the ceiling.

Stiles realized that he felt a little funny, like he wasn't panicking as much as he should be, and he deduced that it was probably the drugs that still lingered in his system. His thoughts weren't exactly lined up properly, and so when he spoke, he said something that he probably wouldn't have if he was completely sober.

"You know, when I wanted to get in to a room alone with Lydia Martin, this was not what I meant."

Lydia shot upwards, and then she obviously regretted it as she grabbed her head again. As she hissed in pain, she looked in his direction. "Stiles?"

"The one and only," Stiles replied, grunting with pain as he shifted his position.

"I thought you were dead," she said, matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, you sound really crushed up about that," Stiles said dryly.

"Where are we?" Lydia asked, moving her hands away from her head slowly. Her hair was more tangled than Stiles had ever seen it, and her makeup was smudged in various places on her face. Somehow, she still looked hot.

"No idea. Prison I'm guessing, but it's probably an abandoned one considering..." he gestured at the dark spidery stains all over the walls and the wheelchair in the corner.

Lydia wrinkled her nose and wrapped her arms around herself. "I hate cigarettes."

"Join the club," Stiles said as he tried to get up again. He wanted to look around, and he managed to get on his feet but he had to clutch the wall and let out a few gasps on the way up, most likely looking like a crippled old man.

Lydia's eyes widened like she remembered something. "Your back."

"Yeah, it's fine. I mean, no it's not fine, it feels like I'm giving Satan a piggy-back, but it's bandaged."

"Bandaged?" Lydia asked. She seemed only half-interested in the subject as she looked around the room. Her brain must have been a little muddled from the drugs as well, since she wasn't screaming or crying or banging on the doors like they both would have been doing.

"Yeah...it's like professional, too. I don't know what the hell..." Stiles didn't finish his sentence since he was too busy grunting as he made his way towards the bed and sat down beside Lydia. He was hoping it was somewhat comfortable, but it felt more like he just placed his ass on a bag of body parts.

Knowing Beacon Hills, it probably _was _stuffed with body parts.

The two of them jumped as someone began struggling with the lock on the door. They stood up, Stiles ignoring the pain in his back for now, and pressed themselves against the back wall. They were cornered, but they'd like to stay as far away from the lunatic behind that door as possible.

The door swung open with a series of cracks and bangs, and then there was a woman crossing the threshold. She stopped a few feet in front of them and Stiles took the opportunity to take in her appearance. She was dressed in jeans and a dirty brown tank top with red stains on its front. Her auburn hair looked to be roughly hacked off, coming to about shoulder length in dry strands. Her face was round and pale with small features. It was very strange to look at her, because she looked like a kind woman in her older twenties, but there was something evil lingering behind her brown eyes. Stiles knew that look. That was the look of loss and grief, twisted and mangled in to rage and anger.

Not to mention the stain on her shirt that looked suspiciously like blood.

"Good, you're awake," she said. Her voice was strangely hoarse, and Stiles guessed that this woman was the master behind the cigarette stench in this place. "Now, let's skip the pretense and go right to the part where I ask the two of you: where is Derek Hale and his pack?"

Stiles had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Why are people _always _asking him where Derek is?

"Look, lady, this has been fun and all, but we have no idea what you're talking about and would really like to go home now, thanks," Stiles said, knowing full well that it wouldn't work.

The woman, who had originally been staring down Lydia, now snapped her head towards Stiles. "Don't play dumb with me, kid. You weren't even supposed to be here in the first place, but you hit my guy over the head with a tire iron, so that kind of pissed him off, you see. So, I'd shut your mouth unless you want your neck snapped here and now."

Stiles could see Lydia's eyes widen at an incredible speed at the corner of his eye. Okay, maybe she would be a little crushed if he died. That's good news.

"Oh, calm down with the theatrics, Jaymie," said another voice coming from the door. All three of them turned their gaze towards another woman, who looked similar to Jaymie, but with a blonde (and much healthier looking) braid down her back. She wore all tight leather, and Stiles felt himself calm a little because this werewolf attire was much more familiar than Jaymie's casual gear. He almost laughed at the irony. "I'm sorry about my sister, she's very insistent. I'm Heather."

Heather came over and held her hand out to the two teenagers, which made the situation very awkward because no way in hell would they be shaking her hand. Heather put down her hand and wiped it down her leather pants. "Well then. We'll be glad to let you out of the asylum if you would be so kind and answer our questions for us?"

"Asylum?" Lydia and Stiles said in unison.

Heather sighed dramatically. It seemed that Jaymie wasn't the only one into theatrics."Abandoned asylum, yes. Now please, if you could just-"

Without any kind of warning, Jaymie leapt forward, grabbed Lydia by the throat and slammed her against the wall.

"HEY!" Stiles yelled, but Jaymie pushed him back and he slammed his torn back against the wall and gasped with the pain of it.

"Heather, I'm not going to stand here while you explain the rules and the semantics to these fucking _insects. _One of you is going to tell me where Derek and his pack are, or I'm going to force it out of you. Clear?" Jaymie said, fierce and determined, her eyes glowing yellow. She was nose to nose with Lydia, whose face was quickly turning a shade of purple.

Something rose in Stiles chest and he ran from the wall and bulldozed Jaymie out of the way. Lydia fell, gasping and spluttering and sliding to the floor. Stiles knew immediately that he couldn't win this fight against a werewolf as she turned towards him with teeth bared, spittle flying from her mouth. He backed up quickly, knowing that there was nowhere to run in this small cell. As Jaymie lunged, Heather knocked her out of the way and pinned her against the wall by her neck. It was clear that Heather was older and stronger.

Jaymie's werewolf features faded as Heather spoke. "We are not killing them. Do you understand me, Jaymie? We need them alive if we plan on torturing them."

"We don't... need..._him_," Jaymie chocked.

Heather let her drop. "There's nothing wrong with a little more material. Raynes will make him and this little slut talk." She nodded her head towards Lydia who was recovering on the floor. "You two just think about your priorities here. It's your life - or, potentially, your sanity-, or it's Derek and his pack. We'll find them with or without your help anyways, so I think the right choice is clear."

And with that, Heather left, Jaymie trailing behind her with clenched fists. They slammed the door shut with a booming sound and Stiles could hear the lock click back in place.

He ran to Lydia's side and kneeled next to her. "Are you okay? Lydia?" He moved her tangled red hair out of her face so he could get a better look at it.

Lydia's face returned to normal color, and besides her heavy breathing, she seemed alright. She nodded, looking shocked. "They're-"

Lydia was interrupted by a coughing fit, but when she recovered, she looked up at Stiles with tears in her eyes. "They're gonna torture us."

"They're not, Lydia, I promise you. I won't let anything happen to you, okay? Not werewolves, not starvation, not...whatever else these bastards throw at us. Not while I'm still alive."

Lydia looked hesitant, but she nodded. The moment was reminding Stiles of finding her stumbling out of the forest, confused, lost and so scared. But Lydia was so much stronger than most girls Stiles met, and he knew that if he could count on anything, he could count on Lydia pulling through.

They listened to the sounds of their breathing for a while until Lydia sighed and spoke up. "Well, I know one thing."

"What?" Stiles asked.

"This outfit is totally ruined."

Stiles started to laugh, but it sent knives of pain down his back, which was aggravated by his impact with the wall earlier. He gasped again and leaned his back gingerly against the cool wall beside Lydia.

Lydia seemed to be pondering something for a moment, biting her lip. And then she asked softly; "Are _you _okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."

They weren't aware that on the floor above them, four werewolves were gearing up for the two teenagers' interrogation.


	3. Chapter 3: Mother Dearest

**Author's Note: Thank you to all those who favorited and followed. I promise I won't let you down! Here's another chapter. Please review. I accept comments, critiques, requests and suggestions, so keep 'em coming! Now on to the story...**

Lydia dreamt of reptiles. Lydia dreamt of wolves. Lydia had nightmares within nightmares full of dead friends and bloody claws, but she was used to it. They were repetitive. She knew what she was getting herself in to when she closed her eyes every night. Her first night in an abandoned asylum, however, sent a very different treat to her subconscious.

She dreamt that she was sitting cross-legged in the middle of a red field. There was nothing supernatural about this field, except for the bloody hands that reached down from the sky and played with her hair. Her dream self laughed and chortled in a haunting way, and she knew deep down that she couldn't make that sound, but she enjoyed the blood in her hair...she enjoyed the coppery smell of it in the air..she wanted suffering and madness and _death_-

_I don't know anything! _Her dream self screeched suddenly. _I don't know anything!_

"I don't know _anything_, man, I swear to God-"

Stiles' voice.

Lydia opened her eyes in time to see a large black man press something red and steaming in to Stiles' wrist and smell burning flesh in the air. Her vision was blurry but she saw Stiles drawing blood from his own hand with his teeth, obviously trying to stop himself from screaming. Lydia's heart plummeted at the sight. She could see the black man's profile as he kneeled in front of Stiles, who was huddled against the wall, and she knew it was the man he had hit with a tire iron.

They hadn't even chained him up. She guessed that his back hurt so badly that he wouldn't be able to escape the man's grasp in time to fight.

Lydia wanted to help Stiles, to stop him biting his hand to the bone, and to stop the burning metal pressing in to his skin, but she knew that he wouldn't want her to. She knew she couldn't help.

And when the man lifted the branding iron from Stiles' arm and he pulled his bloody hand away from his mouth and let out a shuttering gasp, she caught his eye. The black man was concentrating on objects that Lydia couldn't see from her angle, so Stiles took the chance to shake his head very subtly, eyes wide, sending Lydia a silent message. _Don't. Please. Pretend to sleep. Don't say a word._

And then the man turned back to Stiles, and Stiles began to talk. "Look, do you have a polygraph? Cause I swear, I don't know where Derek is or what the hell he does in his free time, so unless you want me to lie, torturing me isn't going to help anybody, seriously."

"Stiles."

This was a different voice. Heather's voice. Lydia closed her eyes and listened to Heather walking in to the cell. She made her eyes in to slits so she could still see what was going on, hating how vulnerable she felt with her eyes closed.

"I've decided to show you some decency and at least tell you who we are and why we're doing this, so maybe you'll show _us_ a little compassion and tell us what we need to know."

"_Compassion? _Your very..._large_ friend here just branded me because I told him I didn't know anything, and you want me to show you compassion."

Lydia wished Stiles would shut up. Every word he said made her heart beat faster, fearing what Heather would do if she got angry. But she knew when it came to risking Scott's life; Stiles wouldn't let down his defenses, even if the pain in his voice was evident.

Unfortunately, Stiles' defenses came in the form of dripping sarcasm and pop culture references.

"We're a Beta pack, and we're going to kill Derek and his whole pack, with or without your help," said Heather, ignoring Stiles and getting straight to the point.

"Wait, wait...a Beta pack? Meaning no Alpha? Is that even possible? I mean, no offense, but I thought you guys would kill each other without, you know, the Big Guy keeping you in line," Stiles asked. Lydia couldn't tell if he was genuinely curious, or just trying to buy himself some time. She opened her eyes a crack more.

"Well, let's look at it this way...you seem to be doing just fine without _your _precious Mommy. We can live without ours."

Now Lydia had her eyes open all the way just in time to see whatever color that was left in Stiles face drain completely. She also saw four gruesome burn marks across his left forearm, bleeding and black.

"How...?" Stiles asked, his voice cracking.

"We've done research, Stiles. Very..._extensive_ research. Your mother is dead, you think it's your own fault, constantly blaming yourself every day and every night. History of some bad panic attacks, huh, Stiles? I bet sometimes you just want to _kill_ yourself because _you_ got to live and your mother? She died nice and slowly, huh?"

Heather was tracing a finger down Stiles face, as if mocking motherhood, and he was trying hard to keep it away from her slim fingers. Even from her spot on the bed, Lydia could see Stiles' throat working like crazy, tears shining in his eyes. Lydia felt an ache in her heart that she was unfamiliar with.

"We know everything about you, boy, and if you think we can't make you talk, then you're in for quite the ride."

Heather confused Lydia. Sometimes, she would act incredibly patronizing, putting on a soft voice and a warm smile that didn't reach her eyes, and seconds later, she would turn in to a block of ice, cold and sharp all over. Lydia wondered if maybe Heather was trying to decide which act would work better on her and Stiles.

In one quick, determined motion, Stiles spit in her face. Not only was that probably a really bad move, but it was so unlike him that even Lydia felt herself go pale.

Heather got up from her crouch very slowly, wiping her face as she went. Stiles kept eye contact the entire time, and Lydia could see how furious he really was. She felt some kind of pride swell in her chest, because she knew exactly how he was feeling - _why were _we_ dragged in to all of this?_

Heather didn't do anything at all. She turned on her heel and made her way towards the door, but before she exited completely, she uttered one name in her cold voice.

"Raynes."

And the man kneeling in front of Stiles grabbed a knife and slammed it down in to Stiles' leg, right above the knee.

Stiles forgot to bite his hand this time. He screamed in agony, throwing his head back and clenching his hands in to fists. Lydia forgot about the situation she was in for a moment, and she accidentally let out a whimpering, sobbing noise. Raynes turned to look at her and smiled maliciously, his eyes flashing gold momentarily. Without tearing his beady eyes away from Lydia, he pulled the knife out of Stiles leg and made him scream once more. Lydia's ears were ringing from the shock of what was happening.

"RAYNES! COME QUICK!" Someone shouted from the floor above. Raynes' face turned from a malevolent mess to a soldier's stoic mask. He threw down the bloody knife and left the prison, barring the door behind him.

Her ears were still ringing and she felt a wetness on her face, but she got off the bed and crawled over to Stiles, who was breathing heavily on the ground. His leg still gushed blood, and there were small drops coming from his arm as well. Lydia saw now that there were only four burn marks on one wrist because the other was almost completely covered in the crisscrossing marks. She fought the urge to vomit.

"Stiles. Stiles?" Lydia asked twice, her voice faltering the first time.

Stiles opened his eyes. His face was a sort of grey complexion and his mouth kept twitching like he was trying not to scream. "I heard them talking outside. They're starting with me, and by the time they're done that, Scott and Derek will come and you'll be rescued and you'll be fine, okay?"

Before Lydia could say anything, Stiles pulled off his shirt, muttering something along the lines of "ugh, fuck," and pressed it in to the leg wound, hissing with pain.

"Let me do it," Lydia insisted, feeling stupid and helpless and guilty. She pushed on the wound and the shirt was immediately soaked in blood. Stiles' torso was wrapped in bandages, and now that the drugs wore off and she could think properly, Lydia deduced it was either an act of compassion on Heather's part to get them to cooperate, or just to keep Stiles from bleeding out before they could use him.

She guessed it was probably the latter.

"We need more..." Stiles swallowed and shut his eyes again as another wave of pain seemed to wash over him before continuing. "We need more sheets or something for this."

He held up his badly burnt arm weakly, and Lydia felt her stomach lurch, but she complied, ripping up bed sheets and anything else she could find to wrap around his forearm.

"And if...if Derek or Scott don't find us then my Dad sure as hell will. Right?" Stiles asked.

"Yes, obviously, someone will find us. Don't be stupid okay, Stiles?" Lydia exclaimed, still ripping up fabrics from the bed.

When she came back to kneel beside him again, Stiles was grinning weakly. "Told you you get snappy when you're upset."

Lydia sighed dramatically and secured a bed sheet around both the arm and the leg. Stiles hissed in pain when she tied a white sheet around his leg, but he drew blood from his lip when she wrapped it around the burnt arm.

Soon enough, Lydia was sitting next to Stiles, her back leaning against the wall next to his. This was the second time they had sat in this exact position, one person injured and the other not. She had a feeling this would become a daily thing for a long, long time, and the injuries would only get so much worse.

And they really didn't know where Derek was.


	4. Chapter 4: Goodbye Sweet Sanity

Stiles fell asleep, or passed out, relatively quickly after Lydia had done her mediocre first aid on him, but the sleep was patchy and dreamless. He would wake feeling like someone had shoved his arms in to a fire, and when that faded, he would fall back asleep, only to wake up to throbbing, burning pain in his lower thigh.

These were the times when Stiles wished he had been turned in to a werewolf as well, because not only would he be able to heal, but he would also tear out Heather and Raynes' throat with his teeth.

The werewolves only came back to give them bathroom breaks or food or water, and if it wasn't that, then they came down to..._ask questions, _which was a euphemism for torture Stiles or threaten Lydia. They hadn't done that last one in a while, which he was grateful for, though he knew it was the calm before the storm.

Despite all the pain that wracked his body, Stiles was happy that Lydia was safe...for now. He would let them tear him piece by piece before he would let them torture her, and that thought surprised even him - but he stood by it with all his heart. Lydia hardly noticed him since third grade, but somehow, he could never get over her intelligence and smile and _awesome _hair and he truly, sincerely loved her, unrequited or not.

Currently, Lydia was sitting on the bed with her knees pulled up to her chest, staring at the cement wall across from her. Her eyes weren't wide or teary or crazed. In fact, if Stiles hadn't known any better, he would have thought that she was just sorting out some kind of mathematical equation in her head.

He sighed. "Damn, I've never wanted a burger so bad in my _life_."

Lydia snapped out of her daze, as if noticing him for the first time. When her eyes landed on him, her face immediately went darker. Stiles saw something in her eyes.

Was that...?

"Oh come on, Lydia, don't tell me you're going in to that whole _survivor's guilt_ trance thing."

Lydia flushed a little, but she didn't look away. "It's not survivor's guilt until somebody dies."

"Yeah, well, don't feel guilty at all, alright? I've seen that look before, and I don't need it right now," Stiles said, a little harsher than he had intended.

Heather mentioning his mother had really twisted something inside of Stiles that was worse than the physical pain. He had always thought to himself that his mother was a precious memory stored in the back of his mind, like that one special song that you don't want to play too many times in case it becomes just any other song.

In his mind, she was still alive and vibrant.

When somebody else mentioned her, she was the thin, pale creature dying in a hospital bed.

Stiles had thought that he had seen the same look in Lydia's eyes that his Dad had worn after his mother died, but then he realized that it was _his own _guilt. _His _look reflected right back at him.

Lydia licked her lips and looked about to reply, but their hearts plummeted when the door to their room was opened once again. Lydia uncurled her legs from herself quickly, as if that would put her in a less vulnerable position.

Jaymie walked through the door and two fully transformed wolves flanked her, teeth and eyes gleaming. One of them was Raynes, but the other was some kind of white body builder. Jaymie was holding a candle that she brought in when it started to get dark outside and they needed another light source. She was also smoking a cigarette as she sat down in the wheelchair and placed the candle on the floor by her feet. The wolves made no movement, and they all just sat there for a while until Jaymie's gaze gave Stiles' the creeps more than the low growls of the wolves.

And then the wolves advanced - one towards Stiles and the other towards Lydia. Raynes pulled Lydia to her feet and pushed her against the wall beside Stiles.

Lydia didn't make a sound besides a grunt when she hit the wall. The wolf held her by the throat, but not tightly.

The other wolf that advanced towards Stiles pulled him up too until he was forced to wobble on one leg and feel burning waves of pain through his back.

Jaymie stood up, and walked towards them, the cigarette still in her hand. "We've decided to speed things up a bit. Got some stuff going on upstairs and we don't have time to waste, so let's get to it, shall we?"

And then Jaymie put out the cigarette by jamming it in to the skin right beneath Lydia's collarbone. Lydia tried to scream but it was cut off by the tightening of the wolf's hand. Stiles struggled too, but there's not much to do when you're pinned against the wall.

Jaymie got to work, chaining the two teenagers' arms to the rings that stuck out of the walls. Stiles had never noticed them there before, but if his throat was free, he would groan. Being chained up sucked, but being chained up with wrists burnt to a crisp was a whole other ball game.

For the first time after discovering that he was locked in this asylum, Stiles was genuinely scared.

"We can do a whole bunch of things without killing you two," Jaymie explained."And so, save us the work and tell us where Derek Hale and Scott McCall are located."

Stiles heart jolted in his chest. They had never mentioned Scott until now and now he knew it was imperative that neither he nor Lydia give anything away. He'd rather die than give his best friend away.

They didn't answer. Jaymie clucked her tongue. "Kill the boy first, the girl might crack from fear. Kill the girl first, the boy will be angry and won't crack at all. Threaten the girl, the boy might crack. So many options..."

Jaymie was having way too much fun with this and it pissed Stiles' off severely, but he didn't want to aggravate the situation so he still kept quiet, and he really hoped Lydia would do the same. Despite their arms being chained to the wall, Stiles' arm brushed against Lydia's and he could feel her shaking.

"What do you think, _Stiles_?" Jaymie spat.

As if she was expecting an answer, Jaymie glared at Stiles when he stayed quiet. "Alright, we'll start with you, because frankly, I'd just like to be rid of you so-"

Jaymie slowly pulled something from her back pocket. A small vial and a needle. She caught Stiles staring at it and grinned. "Crazy concoction, this. Made it myself. There's a whole bunch of stuff in here that will hit every part of the brain that's important enough. Let's just say, you'll be going crazy in no time, kid."

And so, slowly and menacingly, Jaymie stuck the needle in to Stiles' neck with only a minor struggle, and he felt a warm liquid run through his veins, fear taking hold of every muscle.

* * *

The wolves had been surprisingly professional when they left. They placed a cell phone on the bed, let Lydia know that they had reprogrammed it to only be able to call one number, and that when Stiles and Lydia were ready to talk, they just needed to press pound.

They had unchained Lydia in order to allow her to complete those actions, but they left Stiles chained up with some kind of poison running through him.

The fact that they had left a cell phone like Lydia would most definitely end up calling them sent worry through her.

What had they injected in Stiles that left them so confident he would talk?

She sat on the bed, greasy hair hanging in her face as she looked down at the crappy phone, abortively pressing buttons. She was smart, but she didn't know much about technology. Just the basics. Whatever the wolves had done to the small flip phone was not going to be undone - at least not by her hands.

She looked up at Stiles. Nothing seemed to be happening to him yet, just a thin sheen of sweat starting to appear on his pale face. He wasn't looking at her. In fact, his eyes were shut tightly, his head resting against the wall, probably because he had metal cuffs irritating the blistered skin on his arms and he was being forced to stand gingerly on his injured leg.

Lydia didn't want to look at him or talk to him or have to recognize his presence in any way, because it was true what he said. There was a cold stone of guilt weighing heavily in her stomach, because besides a bit of bruising on her neck and a small burn on her collarbone, she was fine. Stiles was taking everything from these bastards, and if she was completely honest with herself, she didn't know how to deal with that. What was she supposed to say to him? How could he want her to just sit there and watch it happen? She felt like she was going to explode, what with Jackson and the trauma she went through with Peter Hale and now being kidnapped by these werewolves?

_Why? Why me? _

"Lydia," Stiles said once, his voice hoarse. "Lydia, did you try to restart the phone?"

Lydia looked up at him again hesitantly. "You really think that will work?"

Stiles shook his head slightly. "Well, what exactly did they say they did to it? I was kind of...distracted."

Lydia swallowed. "They...um, they said that they reprogrammed it so that we can only call one number. And that if we're ready to talk, we just have to press the pound button."

"And you've tried calling Scott? Or Allison? Just in case?"

Lydia rolled her eyes and stood up, crossing her arms. "This is 2013, Stiles. You really think I've memorized anyone's number? I've got a couple _thousand _numbers in my phone."

Stiles smiled a little bit, despite being chained to a wall. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Give it to me, I'll try my Dad."

Lydia made her way over to him, walking with her usual bounce and flawless posture. She looked him up and down for a moment, because she had absolutely no idea how Stiles was going to hold a phone without hurting himself. And then she paused and looked him in the eye. "I thought your Dad didn't know about all the weird stuff happening around here?"

Stiles looked like he was considering this for a moment, but then he flinched suddenly, balling his hands in to fists. He spoke, strained but determined. "I can feel this poison crap starting to do its thing, so I think I'll take my chances explaining to him that my best friend's a werewolf. I am _not_ dying today."

Stiles flexed one of his hands and Lydia reluctantly placed the phone in it. He managed to open the phone and start pressing in numbers with one hand, but he was gritting his teeth as his burnt wrist rubbed against the metal cuff. The weak bandages wrapped around his arms must have been doing nothing to keep the pain at bay, and the blood still managed to soak through as well.

Lydia swallowed, trying to keep her rising anxiety away.

When he had typed in the number, he nodded his head towards Lydia insistently, as the chains wouldn't allow him to press the phone to his ear. Lydia quickly took the phone and pressed it to her ear, but it didn't even ring. A robotic woman spoke in her ear, pretty much telling her that this option wasn't allowed.

Stiles was staring at her with wide, hopeful eyes, but she just shook her head ruefully and shut the phone. She watched the hope drain from Stiles' face and then he groaned and rested his head against the wall again. He couldn't sit down unless he wanted his shoulders in a very uncomfortable position, but Lydia guessed that the wound on his leg must be killing him. He probably wouldn't last standing up much longer.

"How does that feel?" Stiles asked when he raised his head again, nodding towards the small circular burn mark under her collarbone.

Lydia's mouth fell open a little bit, and she felt the corner of her mouth twitching like she wanted to smile. "Seriously?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Humor me."

"It's fine, Stiles."

"That's good," Stiles replied. Lydia could swear that his speech was starting to slur.

She found that she didn't really want to move from her spot, standing only a foot or two away from him. She watched as Stiles struggled with whatever was going through his mind. What had Jaymie said? _There's a whole bunch of stuff in here that will hit every part of the brain that's important enough._

Stiles face was turning paper white. He opened his eyes, but squeezed them shut again, over and over again like he was seeing something he didn't want to see. And then he let out some weird giggling sound, and Lydia's heart sped up faster because that didn't sound normal at all. Almost hysterical.

"Lydia."

It took a while for Lydia to respond, as the pallor in Stiles' face was becoming frightening, but she shook herself out of her stupor and looked him in the eye.

It was as if he was looking _through _her, and from her experience with Stiles Stilinski, Lydia figured that Stiles would never _choose _not to look at her. It looked as if he was seeing something that wasn't there, floating behind Lydia. His eyes came in and out of focus.

"Stiles?"

"Lydia, get these fucking chains off me."

His voice shook with some deep rooted fear that Lydia had never seen in Stiles before. Lydia knew that she couldn't get the chains off, that she would have to stand here and watch this...this _thing _inside Stiles take its toll. She was useless.

But she moved to the ring in the wall that Stiles' right hand chain was attached to, and she pulled. Grunting and trying to gather every sliver of strength she possessed, she pulled. But her strength wasn't enough.

Stiles was pulling now too, ramming his bloody wrists against the cuffs in the hopes that the chains would rip free from the wall.

"Stiles! Stop it!" Lydia yelled in alarm and she stopped pulling and ran to face Stiles again. He was still struggling against the chains, not caring about the fresh blood that he was creating on his arms, sweating profusely. His eyes were wild and glassy, and Lydia had the awful feeling that his mind wasn't here in the cell with her anymore.

She was no longer thinking clearly. Her mind wandered to a different place, and she wasn't crying or screaming or panicking. She couldn't let him destroy his wrists until he bled out and so she pushed him against the wall by the shoulders, determined and pushing back the fear that was crawling up her throat.

"Stiles, stop it! You'll hurt yourself!" Lydia screamed. It was a stupid thing to say, because Stiles wasn't just hurting already, he was _suffering_.

And then suddenly, Stiles was seeing her again. His eyes were wide and fearful but they were looking straight in to hers as she leaned all her weight against his shoulders.

"Get off," he said, and his voice sent chills down her spine because it was so calm and cold and _empty _and it didn't match his eyes. She had no choice but to back off from him because now she was s_cared. _

She backed away slowly, but they never broke eye contact. Stiles stared at her and, amazingly, his gaze looked _apologetic_. And then he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the cold concrete floor, arms chained above him now.

"Stiles?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

But he didn't answer. He just stared as something she couldn't see tore him apart from the inside.


	5. Chapter 5: The Worst and The Relief

The physical pain was crippling. A burning acid running through his veins, hitting his head full force like an animal clawing and burrowing through his brain.

But it was nothing compared to the things he was seeing. The things he was _feeling_.

It didn't take long for Stiles to be so completely taken by the poison that he could no longer distinguish between what was real and what was a hallucination. It was a kind of claustrophobia within his own mind that he wanted more than anything to escape. Like a thousand panic attacks rolled in to one.

There were faceless people crowding his vision. He could see nothing but pale flesh and the indents where eyes used to be, and he wanted to tell himself it wasn't real but even when he closed his eyes and opened them again, they were there. And they were laughing.

How do faceless people laugh?

Even through the chaos happening throughout his body, Stiles was reminded of the night terrors he would have as a kid. Faceless people screaming and laughing all around him.

He was reliving his nightmares, but they were more real than ever before.

In his mind, his father screaming his name in a way that was both menacing and disgusted, and it was so real it was like the man was right next to him. He wanted to sleep and get away from hundreds of the same body rotting on the floor in front of him. His mother's body. Her bodies crawled towards him like some unearthly thing, and Stiles didn't know where he was, only that he would be lost in here with these things that used to be his mother.

He could feel himself flinch violently as the acid burned his insides and he wanted to tear open his own flesh and rip it out.

The confusion and disorientation and _fear_ were too much to bear. He felt as if he were floating - no, _hanging_ - in some black abyss that he would never escape.

But when he closed his eyes, he saw Lydia being tortured in ways that he couldn't comprehend, and he willed his eyes to stay open and see what was really there. But nothing was real anymore. He couldn't be sure.

He remembered a woman coming in to the abyss with him. He remembered screaming at her, telling her where Scott was. Telling her everything about his best friend so that she would just make it _stop_.

The pain.

His thoughts were no longer coherent because the _pain._

And then something happened. A blissful coolness was pushed in to his body that seemed to extinguish the acid inside and rid him of the screaming in his head. He didn't bother to see through the fogginess of his eyes to figure out who his rescuer had been, but he could swear he saw a flash of strawberry blonde hair. His body, exhausted from God knows how many days of absolute agony, passed out immediately, and Stiles saw no more.

* * *

It had been the most terrifying 24 hours of Lydia's life. More terrifying than anything Peter Hale had put her through.

She had tried to comfort Stiles. She didn't care who he was or what history they had, she sat in front of him and talked to him and tried to end the complete and utter suffering that was going on inside of him. It was horrifying to watch.

Stiles sat there and sometimes he would pull on the chains like it was the most important thing he would ever do. Other times he was silent and staring. Lydia tried to make Stiles see her, but when his eyes were focused and looking at her, it was like he was looking at a monster.

And when he wasn't silent, he was shaking hard enough to make the chains rattle, and he was mumbling things that Lydia only caught a few words of. Things like _I'm sorry_ or _please_ or _mom_ or even _Lydia?_

And Lydia answered him when he called for her and she put her hand on his face that hadn't gained color at all since sliding down the wall hours earlier. But he never showed any sign of relief.

Sometimes he was outright screaming and Lydia couldn't handle screaming, so she shoved herself in to a corner and pushed her hands over her ears and tried to bring herself to a better place.

And eventually the first sob escaped from Lydia's throat and she could no longer control them. She tried to stay strong for her friends, for Stiles, for herself. But she couldn't do it any longer.

Until Heather walked in.

Lydia didn't hesitate. She could swear her vision had turned red for a moment as she jumped to her feet and ran towards Heather before she was even completely through the door. She tackled the woman, pushing her against the doorframe. She knew Heather was considerably stronger than Lydia, but she was caught off guard for the moment.

"Fix him," Lydia said through angry tears, pushing her arm against Heather's throat. "You fix him and _let us go_."

Heather stared at her with wide eyes for a moment before cracking up and throwing Lydia off of her until she hit the floor of the cell.

Lydia rolled back up immediately from her place on the floor, but didn't get to her feet.

"Relax you stupid girl," Heather said, her chortles subsiding. "I came with a remedy. Jaymie and I figured that maybe Stiles here wants to talk, but isn't quite _capable _given the state he's in. And you know what? When we bring him back to life under threat of another dose of that stuff, he won't hesitate to talk. You lose."

Heather smiled with insane glee, a look that was foreign to her face and made her look a lot more like Jaymie than Lydia was comfortable with.

Lydia got up from the floor, her courage fading a little under Heather's crazy grin.

"Of course," Heather began again, fumbling in her jacket pocket for something. "He'll be in no state to talk right away. So, here."

Heather chucked a vial of clear liquid and a needle on to the bed beside Lydia.

"You give that to him, okay, sweet Lydia? When he's ready, give us a call. Oh and I'll have some food and water brought in for you soon enough. Can't have you dying now, can we?"

And with a wink and a pivot, Heather disappeared behind the door again. The entire time she was talking, a part of Lydia's brain was trying to produce a plan on how to get out that heavy metal door before Heather could get her. She would run, get Scott or Derek, and tell them where Stiles was located.

But, Heather was a werewolf and trying would probably just get her injured. Lydia couldn't afford to be injured. She felt a weight on her shoulders when she looked at Stiles, knowing that the baton of leadership had been passed over to her.

Lydia didn't quite trust the clear liquid Heather had thrown on the bed. It could be the lethal blow for Stiles, or Heather could have been telling the truth. Either way, it would stop his suffering. But what if it was just another dose of poison?

66.7% chance of relieving Stiles of whatever he was going through. 33.3% chance that she would double the pain.

So she went with the odds and gathered up the needle and the vial, making her way over to Stiles. She kneeled by him, and with shaking hands, she sucked up the clear liquid in to the needle and pushed it in to Stiles' neck, hoping to God it was the 66.7%.

Instantly, Stiles' forever-open eyes flashed with some kind of clarity and _relief_. For a split second, a beautiful second, he looked straight at Lydia and seemed to s_ee _her again for the first time.

And then he slumped, his arms still chained above him, and his eyes finally closed.

She hadn't killed him. She checked for a pulse and got a very, very weak one, but it was there. Upon doing this, Lydia realized they hadn't been fed or given any water for 24 hours, but they were both too distressed to notice. Her stomach growled and her mouth was dry, and suddenly she couldn't wait for Heather to come back with some sustenance.

When she was certain Stiles was only sleeping, Lydia couldn't sit around and wait for him to wake up, and so she decided to make herself useful.

The wheelchair in the corner was old and rickety, but the wheels looked strong enough. She went over and picked it up and without hesitation, she smacked it down on one of the rings that Stiles' chain was attached to. She did it mostly out of anger, but also out of hope that it would actually break. There was a crash and dust flew from the chair and the concrete wall, but it didn't budge. She hit it a few more times, completely overcome with an unexpected rage at everyone.

Jackson. _Crash_. Heather. _Crash. _Jaymie. Raynes. Scott. Derek. Peter. Allison. _Crash_. But mostly, herself. Lydia. Stupid, stupid Lydia. _Crash. _

She was useless. She let Stiles be tortured and she never stepped in, never did anything to stop it. She just screams and cries and wishes she was somewhere else.

She hit the ring one more time, hard but careful not to hit Stiles with the chair. There was a different crash this time. It came from behind her.

She spun and just there by her feet was a pale orange ashtray. Lydia figured it must have fallen out of the back pocket of the wheelchair. It didn't crack or shatter when it hit the ground. When she picked it up, it was heavy, and it felt like it was made of brick.

And so she put down the wheelchair, which had a dent in the wheel from being smacked against the wall so many times. The ring in the cement was loose, but not loose enough. So, Lydia slammed the ashtray against it hard, and it was like bending a spoon. The ring was easily loosened from the wall even further with a spray of dust, and Lydia pulled on it until it came free.

Stiles' arm fell down with a lifeless thump, and Lydia felt somewhat triumphant in having done _something _to make him more comfortable.

She began the same process again with the second ring, which was a lot harder when Lydia was no longer fueled by anger. But she got it out, and soon enough, Stiles was free.

As free as he could be, at least.

The huge male werewolf that Lydia didn't know the name of came in a few minutes later with the same dusty sandwiches and warm water that they usually got. He placed them on the floor and thankfully, didn't notice that Stiles was unchained. Lydia crawled over to the food with a savage eagerness that she would probably be ashamed of later, but for now, her stomach screamed at her for food. She greedily ate two of the four sandwiches and drank her glass of water. It wasn't nearly enough, but she wasn't about to go and eat Stiles' share, and so she waited by the bed until he woke up.

It took hours. Stiles didn't move, and his face regained no color. Lydia just watched him slumped against the wall, her mind fluctuating between anxiety, impatience and concern. The bandages around his arms were still bloody and beginning to fall off. His leg didn't seem any different than before, but at least it had stopped bleeding. But finally - _finally _- Stiles woke up and looked at his surroundings.

"Stiles?" Lydia asked immediately, crawling over to him.

Despite his many hours of sleep, Stiles looked exhausted. There were circles clearly visible under his eyes and his lips looked as dry as Lydia's felt.

Lydia never believed the myth that you could see how much a person has suffered judging by their eyes, but she could swear to God that Stiles' eyes looked older and a lot more fearful than they ever were before.

Stiles turned his head towards her and his eyes went wide. He didn't speak for a full minute before saying, very softly; "Lydia?"

He moved his hand towards her face and Lydia didn't move away from the touch. It seemed that whatever Stiles had went through before had made him believe that Lydia was gone or injured or dead, but she put her hand over his as it touched her face and her hair and tried to make sure that Lydia was real.

And then suddenly he dropped his hand and sat up a little, looking panicked. "I told her. I told Heather where to find Scott. Oh, God...Oh my God, how could I do that?"

Lydia furrowed her eyebrows, taken aback. "What? Stiles, you didn't say anything to her. You were completely out of it for over a day."

Stiles looked at her and looked even more confused than he did before. He shook his head. "No...no, I told her. That was real, I know it was."

Lydia moved closer to him and was about to put her hand on his arm before remembering that it was severely burnt. So she held his hand instead until they were sitting almost side by side, looking each other in the eyes. "Stiles, listen to me. You didn't tell her anything. You must have been hallucinating."

Stiles shook his head again, his eyes almost pleading, as if he just wanted Lydia to stop lying to him. But she wasn't lying, and eventually, Stiles seemed to accept that.

"Did they hurt you?" Stiles asked.

Again, Lydia was incredulous. Again, she was hit with the fact that Stiles would go so far as putting himself in utter agony to avoid Lydia having to endure a _scratch. _He was insane. He was absolutely insane, and yet her stomach was doing some weird thing that it never did with Jackson, and Lydia didn't know what to think of this boy in front of her. Insane. Wonderful. _Insane_.

"I'm _fine_. You need water," Lydia said, and she let go of his hand to go and grab the glass of water by the door. Stiles looked hesitant, like anything he touched would cause more pain. But thirst seemed to overcome him, and he grabbed the cup a little stiffly because of his arms, and brought it to his lips. He drank it down eagerly.

Lydia was watching his shaking hands with a tightness in her throat. She wanted badly to ask him what he saw. What could he have possibly seen?

But the next words Stiles spoke forced the words back down her throat once more.

"Lydia, I don't know how much longer I can take it in here."

He swallowed and ran his hands through his hair. It was a defeat that Lydia hoped she would never hear coming from Stiles. But there it was. And oddly, something flashed inside of Lydia at the words. It wasn't disappointment or hopelessness. No, this was a newfound courage and determination. She had to get Stiles out, she had to get herself out, and that bitch Heather wouldn't stop her.

"I know," she whispered. "But we're going to get out."

She nodded her head, as if convincing herself that her words were real. Then, swallowing and gritting her teeth, she looked back up at Stiles. "We're going to get out tonight."

* * *

**Author's Note: WOW! That chapter was a lot longer than I thought it would be. But, anyways, I hope you guys are liking this brave, courageous, caring Lydia. I don't know about you, but I think there's a lot more to Lydia than just being the girl that screams and freaks out a lot. This is what I'm trying to bring out in this story, without straying too far from her character. Also, as you can see, Stiles is lacking a lot of his usual sarcasm and charm. I don't think this is very out of character considering his circumstances. I don't think I would have a lot of time for jokes either if I was in his place! Poor baby. Don't worry, this chapter was mostly inner thoughts and feelings, but there will be more dialogue eventually. Well, please review and let me know what you think! There are more chapters to come. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this story as of now, so please feel free to let me know if there's anything in particular you want to see, and I might add it in there. Thanks for reading! **


	6. Chapter 6: Strength and Blood

Water never tasted so good. Breathing never hurt so bad.

Stiles couldn't comprehend how he felt, really. He felt scared, paranoid, sick, even though his brain seemed to be telling him that none of what he saw was real. They hadn't sliced up and killed Lydia in front of him. He hadn't told Heather everything about Scott and Derek.

But something still lingered inside of him that made him want to kill himself. Stiles was a lot of things, but he was never suicidal.

He knew that if they didn't get out of this cell tonight, and they threatened him with more of that god awful liquid, he wouldn't hold it together. He would rather die.

As he tried to sit up, he felt stiff. His arms itched and burned. His leg was an annoying shooting pain. His face was still sore from Grandpa Argent fucking it up days before.

Days? Had it been days? Stiles nor Lydia were quite certain how long they'd been in the cell, but it didn't really matter anyways, did it?

Stiles didn't know what had happened to Lydia when he was delirious. He didn't know whether she lied about them not hurting her, but she had no fresh wounds. The only thing Stiles saw in her that was new was her voice full of determination and promise when she spoke to him. Also, she must have ripped his chains from the wall or something. The thought made him smile while she was wrapping his arms with fresh bed sheets, to which Lydia rolled her eyes and asked; "_What _are you smiling at?"

But Stiles just looked at her like he always did, because she never ceased to amaze him. She was holding it together better than any other full grown human being could have. Or at least, she was very good at hiding her dwindling sanity.

According to her, they were going to make it out tonight. How in the hell they were going to do that, Stiles didn't know, but he believed her.

He winced as the sheet rubbed against his burnt flesh and Lydia hesitated and looked up at him for a second.

"No, it's cool, keep going," Stiles said, gritting his teeth.

She kept going without a word. The silence was allowing Stiles' thoughts to move to the nightmares he saw in his poisoned state, and so he tried to start up some kind of conversation to keep the images at bay.

"So, um, do we have a plan or something for this escape thing?" Stiles asked.

"Nope," Lydia replied, not looking up at him.

"Well that's convenient."

Lydia sighed and finished wrapping up his arm before sitting back and looking up at him, irritated. "I'm working on it, Stiles. If you haven't noticed, those are full grown _werewolves _out there."

"Yeah, I got that. I'm not trying to push you. You just...do your thing," Stiles said, waving his hand around to represent whatever Lydia's _thing _was.

"Okay well first of all, we have to see if you can even move. Or else I'm just going to have to run and find Scott and tell him where you are," Lydia explained, looking up to her right as she usually did when she was thinking.

"_Run_?" Stiles asked, incredulous. He shifted his position and was glad to know that it wasn't too excruciating to move. "Your plan is to just run right passed them?"

"Of course not. We'd distract them first."

Stiles waited for her to elaborate, but Lydia always loved to push people to the very limit before she thoroughly explained.

"Okay, how?" Stiles asked.

Lydia pressed her mouth into a tight line and looked at Stiles for a second before responding. "You're not going to like it."

* * *

Lydia had fully explained her plan, and although it made Stiles pretty uncomfortable, he genuinely thought it would work.

But for the most crucial part, they had to test Stiles' strength.

And so Lydia sat, patiently waiting for Stiles to gather himself before she began helping him up.

"Okay, just give me a sec," Stiles said as Lydia stood up and held out her hands.

He grabbed her hands and pushed himself up. Too fast. His head spun and he took one of his hands away to push it against the wall. Lydia held his other hand firmly as he swayed for a moment. When it subsided a little, he put pressure on his leg. It hurt like a bitch, but it wasn't unusable.

He nodded at Lydia, telling her that it was okay to move. When he walked on the leg, there was a slight limp, but it wouldn't completely affect his ability to run. Lydia helped him walk to the door and back, like he was an old man undergoing joint therapy.

"How does it feel?" she asked after a while.

Stiles was about to reply with a simple _fine _, but he hissed in pain as he stumbled and flexed his arm a little too much until he felt fresh bleeding on his burn wounds. He pulled his hand from Lydia's and went to the wall to steady himself.

He was miserable, but he wasn't going to whine about it. "I'm good."

Lydia looked at him with her lips in a tight line. It was a look of disapproval that she seemed to be using to hide her concern. "Stiles, if you can't walk, we can't escape. We have to know for sure."

Stiles sighed and turned so that his back was leaning against the wall. He tilted his head back and sighed. "I'm trying, I swear to God. If we get out of here, I'll probably be all hopped up on adrenaline and stuff, right? And I'll keep practicing until then. I won't screw this up for you, okay?"

Lydia's face softened, and there was that guilt again. The guilt that Stiles hated on her face.

"Are you going to tell me what you saw? When you were..."

She trailed off. She seemed to have wanted to ask that question for a while now, and now that she did, she looked even more guilty than before. Suddenly, Stiles wondered what he must have looked like from Lydia's point of view when he was poisoned. He remembered screaming, but he couldn't be sure if he actually did it out loud. If he did...and if he did other things too, of course Lydia would wonder.

And he would tell her. Just...not yet.

He didn't quite know what to respond to her, but unfortunately he didn't have time to think of an answer anyways. Just then, Heather, Jaymie, Raynes and the other guy walked in to the cell. They were human for now, at least.

But they weren't ready. Stiles wasn't ready. They didn't go over the plan enough times. But as Stiles caught Lydia's eye, she nodded very subtly. There was fear and doubt in her eyes, but the message was clear.

_We have no choice. We have to do it now._

* * *

Stiles got the message. Lydia could see it in his eyes. See the color drain from his face once more.

She didn't need to look behind her to know that all four of the wolves were there. She was hoping it was just Heather or Jaymie, because it would be a lot easier to run. But no such luck.

They couldn't wait. They would be expecting information from Stiles now, and if he didn't cooperate, she knew what they would have in store for him.

She turned and backed up towards the wall as the four werewolves lined up in front of her.

Heather noticed the chains right away. Her eyes flashed, but then she smiled. "Some strength you have, boy."

Lydia was just going to let it go, but Stiles spoke up. "It was Lydia actually."

"You don't look very good, kid. We should probably get you a juice box or something," Jaymie said. She seemed dirtier and more insane every time she visited the cell. Her hair was messier than it had been, and there was more blood on her shirt that she still hadn't changed. Her eyes were absolutely crazed and she looked at the two of them like she wanted to rip someone's throat out _badly._

Raynes grunted with something that must have been laughter. Heather stepped forward, rolling her eyes. A group of betas didn't seem as closely connected as a regular pack of werewolves. They all had their own rules, and Heather didn't seem to give a shit about any of the wolves behind her, except maybe her sister.

"Alright, enough. You know what I'm going to ask. We're tired. We don't want to hurt anyone again. Stiles, tell us where they are or I'll do it again," Heather said. She really did sound exhausted. There was no menace in her voice.

Stiles stepped forward. He was steady on his feet, but there was no mistaking the clenching and unclenching of his fists that said that standing wasn't exactly pain-free. When he spoke, his voice was clear and angry. "I'm not telling you shit."

Heather seemed surprised for a split second before she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, taking a deep breath. Lydia remembered how confident Heather was that it would work, and Stiles would give everything up.

She was wrong. And she was pissed.

But instead of advancing on Stiles, she lunged at Lydia and pinned her against the wall.

"_Is this what you want?" _she screamed. She was screaming in Lydia's face, but Lydia knew that the question wasn't directed at her. It was directed at Stiles. "You want me to snap her neck? If that's what it takes, I will."

Stiles' eyes were wide and he made towards Lydia but Raynes seized him from behind and pinned his arms behind his back. Stiles screamed as Raynes dug his claws in to his burned arms, but apparently he didn't have time for pain. He screamed again, but words this time. "I'd take a thousand more doses of that crap before I told Lydia's killer anything. So you go ahead and do it, lady, but it's not going to get you any closer to finding them!"

Stiles was intelligent. That much was no secret, and Lydia knew it. If he were to go so far as telling a werewolf to go ahead and kill Lydia while he watched, than he knew 100% that she wouldn't do it.

So Lydia wasn't scared. In fact, when Heather looked back at Lydia with fear and exasperation in her eyes, Lydia stared back with daring determination. The werewolf knew that Stiles was telling the truth.

And according to the warm feeling in her heart, Lydia knew it too.

Heather let her go, and she was the first one to break eye contact with Lydia. She didn't say anything, but Raynes brought Stiles over to the back wall and slammed him roughly against it. He stepped aside, keeping Stiles firmly in place.

And then Heather reached in her back pocket, and Lydia's heart soared, because this was the plan. This was it.

The other male werewolf came over to hold Lydia in place. Jaymie stayed blocking the door. He was trying to scare her, growling in her face with angry eyes, but she was too busy looking at what was happening beside her.

Heather took a needle out of her back pocket. Sucked up some of the liquid. Moved it towards Stiles neck, who looked scared.

When it was only centimeters away from being stabbed in to his neck, he did what he and Lydia had talked about. With incredible speed, he lifted his arm, grabbed the needle from Heather and flipped it around. Heather was caught off guard, and so she didn't have time to stop the needle from being plunged in her own neck. She gagged and growled and tried to claw Stiles' hand away, but Stiles had already pushed the liquid into her and pushed her out of the way. Raynes was surprised too, and he stumbled backwards when Stiles kicked him in the groin. He had to do it three times, cause apparently werewolves had some pretty strong equipment, but eventually Raynes howled and fell to his knees.

Lydia moved before the wolf holding her could realize what was going on. She gathered up the knowledge she gained from her female self-defense class and plunged her thumbs into the wolf's eyes. Lydia found herself making an odd noise, like she was growling too. There was a weird pleasure from pressing this guy's eyes into his skull and watching him squirm and bellow. The eyes were one of the most sensitive parts of the body, even when it came to werewolves. When she had pressed them hard enough, she ran towards the door where Stiles was punching Jaymie repeatedly as she tried to push him against the wall. She hadn't turned into a werewolf yet, probably too unprepared to realize what was happening around her, and too occupied trying to get Stiles off of her.

Lydia could see the muscles contracting in Stiles arm as he punched her over and over across the face, and she saw fresh blood appearing under his bandages. She couldn't stare for long though, because Heather was crawling towards her, looking sickly pale and on the edge of consciousness. She still managed to look pissed though, and her werewolf face was turning itself off and on.

Lydia ran towards the woman and kicked her in the face until she rolled on to her side. Through the howling of the two male wolves, Lydia recalled what Heather had said on the first day of her and Stiles imprisonment, and so she leaned close to the wolf and whispered;

"I am _not _a slut."

And then she kicked her in the face one more time and made her way over to Stiles, who had Jaymie pinned against the doorframe. Lydia managed to make it over to them in time to see Jaymie's werewolf face fade back into a human one. Her face was bloodied, and blood flew from her mouth as she spoke.

"Wait," she begged. "You don't understand. They killed her. Your precious _Scott _killed my daughter."

Lydia was looking at Stiles' profile from outside the door.

"Stiles, let's go!" she hissed as she saw the male werewolf recovering with bloody eyes.

Stiles face changed from angry, to surprised, to dubious, and then to disgust. But he didn't seem to be disgusted by Jaymie. He seemed disgusted by what Jaymie had _said_.

"Why should I believe you?" he asked quietly.

Jaymie spit out some more blood. "A mother doesn't lie when it comes to her children."

Suddenly, Stiles furrowed his brow in confliction and pain, but it wasn't a physical pain, Lydia could tell. It was something going on inside his head. Some kind of understanding as he looked into the eyes of the wolf that now seemed too human.

"Stiles, please," Lydia pleaded, more urgent this time. The two male werewolves were both getting to their feet now.

Stiles seemed to shake himself out of his stupor. He looked at Jaymie and let her drop to the floor before grabbing Lydia by the arm and running without looking back.


	7. Chapter 7: Tall Grass

They were running down the longest corridor Stiles had ever seen. It was dark and never-ending; the only light was moonlight shining through the windows of the cells on either side of them. It shone in patches on the floor, but otherwise, they could hardly see.

Stiles had shifted his grip from Lydia's arm to her hand, and they ran down the cement corridor to wherever it led them, hoping it was a door to the outside.

"I can hear them," Lydia said, panicked. Her voice shook with both fear and breathlessness.

Stiles could hear them too. It was hard not to. They may have taken out Heather and Jaymie, but the two male wolves were pissed. One of them was blinded by Lydia, which could be an advantage, though they were most likely healing as they began chasing after the two teenagers.

"Don't pay attention to them. Just keep running," Stiles said calmly.

He got a chill down his spine despite the chaos, because he could hear Heather starting to scream bloody murder.

He really hoped he hadn't sounded like that when the poison was running through his own veins.

"There's a turn up ahead," Lydia said.

"How can you possibly see a turn up ahead?!" Stiles asked, his voice raising a few octaves with disbelief.

"You can tell by the refraction of the light on the- Oh, would you just listen to me, Stiles?! There's a turn up ahead. Take it," Lydia yelled over the sounds of their feet hitting the ground and the wolves growling and howling far behind them.

He did as she said when they reached a turn. It wasn't a corridor. It was a staircase.

They figured they should get as far away from the werewolves as possible, so they started up the stairs and Stiles had to grind his teeth together to keep from crying out. His leg was weakening more and more, and he felt the wound beginning to bleed again from the repeated aggravation and lack of treatment.

It also didn't help that it was so fucking _dark_ in the narrow staircase.

But, he didn't want to get ripped to shreds, and he didn't want to slow them down, so he kept going.

Lydia was leading the way now, a few steps ahead of Stiles but still holding his hand tightly. When they reached the top of the stairs, they reached some kind of lobby. He figured that this would be where the main desk was when this asylum was still up and running. He would have been totally creeped out by the plastic wrapped furniture covered in dust and the eerie feeling of death that surrounded this place, but he and Lydia were too busy looking around frantically for a door.

Stiles felt something on his skin - a beautiful thing he felt like he hadn't experienced in a very long time.

A breeze. Fresh air. Where was it coming from...?

"There!" Lydia yelled. Sure enough, there was a door to their right that was blocked with plywood and wheelchairs.

Just as they heard the wolves climbing the dark staircase behind them, they bolted for the door.

Lydia was making some weird half screaming, half moaning noise now. Stiles was probably making some kind of noise too. He always hated the feeling of being chased.

He remembered when his cousins used to come over to his house and play with him in the basement, they would chase him up the stairs. Even if they were considerably younger than he was, he always had that heart-pounding feeling that something was about to grab his ankle and drag him back down.

The feeling wasn't a lot better when it was two pissed off werewolves chasing him.

"Get the- get the thingy!" Stiles yelled, gesturing wildly to the gigantic piece of plywood leaning against the door.

Lydia probably would have rolled her eyes if the situation wasn't so completely terrifying. Stiles grabbed the five wheelchairs lying in different angles and positions before the door. He threw them behind him, ignoring the stinging in his forearms. He went over to help Lydia just as the plywood almost fell and crushed her.

And then the werewolves burst out of the staircase, and Stiles and Lydia crashed out the door. Stiles grabbed Lydia's hand and held on for dear life, because he would _not _let them catch her. Not after all of this.

Stiles caught a glimpse of the wolves. Raynes and the other werewolf that Stiles now decided to just call Rocky, were full on werewolf, their claws shining in the moonlight and their teeth glistening. There was blood on Rocky's face, leaking from his half-healed eyes. Raynes looked uninjured, but his junk must have been throbbing.

"We'll never outrun them," Lydia whispered.

"Just shut up, Lydia, _shut up_," Stiles yelled, and gripped her hand even tighter. They were running through a field, the grass reaching up to his waist and making it even harder to move. Lydia was right of course, and Stiles felt the stone of upcoming death settle in his stomach even as he kept running at a nauseating speed.

The werewolves were so close now, Stiles could smell them.

And then something pulled Lydia to the ground. Her hand was wrenched from his and she screamed, long and terrified. Stiles stopped in his tracks and spun around just in time to see Raynes' face in his as Rocky was grabbing Lydia by the ankle and dragging her through the grass. Stiles punched Raynes across the face, which of course did nothing but crush his hand.

But Stiles didn't care what would happen to him, he lunged into the grass and screamed something unintelligible and grabbed Lydia's hands.

It was like the world had paused and begun to turn in slow motion.

Lydia's terrified face looked up at his and she was straining so hard to keep hold of his hands. Rocky was pulling hard enough to pull Lydia's leg off and Stiles could hardly keep himself grounded to keep her in place. At the corner of his eye, Stiles could see Raynes' leg coming down to crush his spine, but it never made it.

Stiles never tore his eyes away from Lydia's as Raynes howled and fell backwards. Stiles felt more than saw Rocky let go of Lydia's ankle and fall backwards as well.

And that's when the world caught up to normal speed again and Stiles looked up to see Jaymie sputtering and bleeding and crying, holding a knife in the air. It looked as if the knife was coated in some kind of liquid that could only be some kind of wolfs bane concoction.

Stiles caught her eye and felt the same thing he had felt only a few minutes before when he looked in to her eyes. An understanding. But he saw an awful sadness in them too. Grief. Pain. Loss.

He saw the regret that she was desperately trying to get Stiles to see.

And then she stabbed herself in the stomach with the wolfs bane blade. Her eyes flashed yellow, her face frozen in pain. Stiles' stomach flipped, his heart wrenched.

Jaymie collapsed in the grass, and she never got back up.

His heart pounding, Stiles turned back to Lydia. Her eyes were wide and shocked as she lay in the grass.

And then in one quick, swift movement, she crawled up and threw herself at Stiles and they held each other tight enough to break bone. She was sobbing, and Stiles face was frozen with a kind of shock that was taking hold of his entire body.

For now, Lydia wasn't just the girl he'd had a crush on since third grade. He didn't think about the fact the girl holding on to him right now was the one who hardly ever spoke to him or recognized his existence for years. No, this was the girl who had survived the same horrific thing that he had that no one would ever, ever understand. This was the girl he loved with all his heart and the only person he would die for without hesitation or thought. He wanted nothing more than to sit here forever and hold her like this and smell her hair, matted with dirt and sweat and everything Lydia truly was. He felt like he couldn't hold her close enough and she was gripping on to him like he was life itself and they were both rocking back and forth with a kind of unspoken trauma and relief that was consuming them both.

They sat there until the sun came up, Lydia crying and Stiles stroking her hair and ignoring his physical pain that was nothing compared to what he felt in his heart.

The loss of an innocence they would never get back. The gain of an anguish and love no one would ever, ever understand.

* * *

As much as they both wanted to get home, they were too exhausted to try. They didn't know where they were, and they didn't have the strength to get up and try to make their way back to Beacon Hills.

And there was something about lying against Stiles' chest that seemed a lot safer than her bed at home. Her bed was where she had the nightmares. Her bed was where Peter Hale would lay beside her so many times before. Her bed was where she bloodied her sheets from the glass wounds in her hands.

And though they could still see the ramshackle asylum a few hundred meters away from them as they lay in the field, it was still a comfort to see the sun rising again. The orange light cast upon the grass filled her with a warmth that she never thought she could feel again.

They had made sure to move far away from the corpses of the three werewolves.

She looked over at Stiles, who was using his arm as a pillow and had the other arm still around Lydia's shoulder in a comforting, protective position. Lydia didn't know if this snuggling counted as romantic, considering the circumstances, but for now, she didn't care what it was.

She only knew that she enjoyed it.

Stiles looked about ready to pass out, but Lydia needed him awake a little longer. She still didn't feel entirely safe being the only one awake in this field. After all, she was allowed to be a little paranoid. So, she shook him, and he jolted a little bit, looking confused.

"You okay?" Lydia asked.

Stiles was grimacing a little, like something was acutely painful but he was trying to hide it as a discomfort. "I think it's getting infected."

"What is?" Lydia asked, shifting her position to look at him better.

"My arms," Stiles replied. "Ugh, douchebags."

Lydia felt the urge to roll her eyes again. Stiles had a marvelous gift when it came to severely underestimating things. Instead she asked; "should we go?"

Stiles' reply was quick and immediate. "Oh fuck no. I think my leg is done for tonight. Or, forever, really."

Lydia was relieved that Stiles didn't want to leave the field just yet, but she was also worried. She had done a lot of first aid and biology classes, and Stiles was _not _getting the proper treatment. No doubt his arms were infected with those disgusting bed sheets wrapped around them, but his leg wasn't far behind.

But there was also another thing that was bugging her. Lydia noticed that whenever Stiles thought she was looking away, his mind would wander to some dark place of his. She wanted badly to know what the poison did to him and what he _saw_.

Stiles caught her looking at him again. "You have that look on your face."

Lydia flipped her hair behind her shoulder and looked around herself with a theatrical look of innocence. "What look?"

"That look that you use when you're trying not to say something. You get it when you're talking to Jackson and he makes a stupid comment about the laws of physics or something."

Lydia sighed. "Stiles, do you have _anything _to do in your spare time besides analyzing everything I do."

Stiles looked offended. "I don't _analyze _you. I'm just a naturally perceptive person. And I'm good with people, you know?"

Lydia raised her eyebrows, disbelieving.

"Ugh," Stiles grunted. He sat up and Lydia moved to sit cross-legged in front of him. The tall grass formed a sort of shelter around them that was both comforting and a little disconcerting since they couldn't quite see around themselves. If someone were to sneak up on them, they'd be caught off guard.

"What do you want from me, Lydia?" Stiles asked. There was exhaustion in his voice, but he wasn't irritated. If Lydia was going to ask, now would be the time.

"I had to sit in there and watch you for god only knows how many hours. I had to watch you go _insane, _Stiles. I just want to know what it could have possibly done to you to make that happen. I want to know exactly what I witnessed in there. I don't want to be left in the dark, Stiles. I am _always_ left in the dark."

Stiles looked about to say something, but his words faltered and he looked down with a pained smile. "I don't understand why you would want any part in it."

"I don't know either. But I have to."

It was the truth. For some unknown reason, she had to know. Maybe it was because she had seen so much evil, she couldn't possibly believe that there was more out there to be experienced.

But Stiles had. And she just had to know.

Stiles looked back up at her and drew a shaking hand through his hair. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, and suddenly Lydia felt guilty for asking. But there was a look in Stiles eyes that said he was going to tell her.

"I had these nightmares," Stiles started. "You know, everyone has that one nightmare that they don't forget but would rather not think about for, like, _ever_, right?"

Lydia nodded. She knew those nightmares.

"Okay, well I don't know, that stuff must have triggered something in my head cause that nightmare came back. But it was like it was _real_, you know? After you have the nightmare, you still have that lingering feeling of fear, but the incident is long past. This time, it was right in front of me and nothing I did could wake me up from it cause it was like a real, living _thing_. But that was only the first part."

Stiles paused. He was avoiding eye contact and suddenly found himself very intrigued with pulling grass out of the ground. When his hands weren't occupied, Lydia could practically feel them shaking. But Stiles went on.

"God, I must have some really fucked up stuff in my head. When that nightmare went away for a bit, it was replaced with my-"

Stiles swallowed and looked up, still not directly at Lydia.

"My mom. I don't even understand what I was seeing but she was dead and she was a_ngry _and it was like I could feel her inside me or something. It's so hard to explain I don't know-"

Stiles was starting to talk faster, panicking. Lydia grabbed his hand and he finally looked her in the eye. There were tears there and Lydia decided that maybe she didn't want to hear.

But she didn't say anything.

After a while, Stiles started up again. "It was a little hard to believe you were alive for a while, you know. I saw them rip you apart, Lydia. It was the most real thing I've ever seen in my life and then you were right in front of me when I came out of it and I didn't understand what was real anymore. And there was this feeling like I was trapped somewhere and God, I hate that. But the werewolves must have laced it with some kind of acid or something cause I felt like I was on fire for a while there-"

Stiles giggled like he was trying to do something to distract himself from what he was saying. Lydia could feel a sense of finality like he wasn't going to say anymore, and that was totally okay with her, because she couldn't even imagine what he was saying. She squeezed his hand harder when it started trembling violently and he looked her in the face again.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, I can't-"

"It's okay. It's okay," she said softly and she shook her head as well, letting him know that he didn't have to go on.

Slowly, she moved closer to him and put her head on his shoulder, keeping his hands in hers. She always knew Stiles cared for her, but the reality of it hit her like a brick in that moment. One of his worst fears...one of his _nightmares _was Lydia dying. Lydia couldn't remember the last time something made her tremble the way Stiles was, but she knew it couldn't have been anything less than traumatizing.

She'd learned so much about him in the last however many days than she had in the years that she'd known him. It was overwhelming and it scared her to death, but she felt so close to him now more than anyone else.

She never felt like this with Jackson.

When Stiles spoke, it sounded like he was realizing a horrible truth. "I'm gonna have these nasty scars on my arms to remind me of this crap every day. That's great."

There was that warmth inside her again that she was feeling for the millionth time since arriving in the asylum. She let it take control of her and consume her until she shifted to look Stiles in the face once more and she pressed her lips against his.

She half expected him to freeze up with surprise, but he responded with great enthusiasm and grabbed her face, running his hands through her disgusting hair. She grabbed the front of his shirt and they hung on to each other and kissed until they were out of breath.

She forgot about everything that had happened to them in that moment and suddenly she was the old Lydia. The one before the horror and the trauma, but with something better. Some courage and true confidence that only Stiles gave her. When they broke apart, Lydia looked up at Stiles, who looked a little stricken.

She spoke with the same bounce and sass that she used to have. "Now those scars will remind you of something a little better."

* * *

**Author's Note: YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME THANK YOU SO MUCH. I have a little more of this story in store for you, so I hope you're not tired of it just yet. But seriously, how perfect is Stydia? This is the funnest writing experience I've had in a while. Reviews are still very much appreciated!**


	8. Chapter 8: Exhaustion

Stiles and Lydia had been walking for about an hour. They didn't know where they were going, but Lydia used her "intuition" to decide which way they should go to arrive in Beacon Hills.

Stiles' head was spinning with both pain and giddiness because _hello. Lydia Martin kissed him. _

He didn't want to act too immaturely about it, but the third grader inside of him was jumping for joy. When she first kissed him, he was too overwhelmed with emotion to realize what was happening, but he kissed her back and it felt right. But now as they walked hand in hand down a gravel road sheltered by trees, he was only beginning to process what had happened in the field.

He hoped that Lydia hadn't just acted on the heat of the moment, and that their kiss was real. Passionate. Not just a product of pity due to Stiles' meltdown.

But there was a little voice inside his head that said it was real, and that it would amount to something else. Lydia wasn't the type to hook up with people because she felt bad for them. She may be used to playing hard to get and tempting boys around her, but Stiles knew that Lydia really had to trust someone before she got truly intimate with them.

Damn, maybe he did analyze her every move.

He shook the thought away and brought himself back to the present.

"A few weeks ago, Scott said he was building some creepy underground werewolf cave near the vet's office," Stiles said.

He had said it a million times, as if going over the incredibly exiguous amount of vague information would help them find their way.

Lydia sighed. "Maybe we should just find a payphone. You don't need money to call the cops."

"No!" Stiles yelled, looking down at Lydia. She looked startled, and Stiles immediately took on a softer tone. "I mean, think about it, Lydia. We've been missing for like four days or something. They'll have tons of questions, and I can't just tell them I tripped over a rock."

He gestured to his battered body.

Lydia chewed the inside her lip and looked up at Stiles. "You'll need an explanation anyways, Stiles. How are you going to explain your arms to your dad?"

Stiles wished she hadn't said it, because it sent a brand new wave of pain down his arms and an even stronger wave of worry through his mind. How _was _he going to explain this?

"Maybe..." Stiles started, thinking as he spoke. "Maybe we _could_ call them, they'd come and get us, and then we could make up a kidnapping story and send them on a wild goose chase for a guy that doesn't exist."

"No, you're right. They'd ask too many questions and we'd never be able to hold up our story. Too many details," Lydia said, her brow furrowed.

It was strange to see Lydia this way. She was disheveled and dirty. She used to be composed of 90% sarcasm and sass, and only 10% genuine human being, but now she spoke to Stiles like she was letting all of those walls down. She wasn't concentrated on appearance or pretense, but only the intelligent, true Lydia that she was. Stiles found that he liked it, but it also scared him a little. He hoped that their experience in werewolf captivity didn't affect Lydia as much as he thought.

"So, what? Find Scott, stay in his new underground palace until I heal and then wear long sleeves for the rest of my life? I can't stay in hiding for that long. I can't do that to my dad," Stiles said, shaking his head.

"I don't know," Lydia whispered, like this was a brand new realization. Lydia knew a lot of things, and so it must have irritated her to be so lost and helpless. She sounded exhausted.

It was like they were walking in circles. The gravel path was never ending, and they heard nothing but the sound of the breeze and chirping birds, which would have been pleasant sounds if their circumstances were any different. Stiles would give anything to hear a car, or any other sound of civilization. He felt dirty and disgusting and his leg was throbbing and the infection that was surely gathering in his arms was starting to make him feel feverish.

He just wanted to go home.

He felt Lydia squeeze his hand and he looked down at her. She gave him a sad half-smile before looking back to the road ahead of her. Stiles had a strange feeling like she could hear everything he was thinking.

Though, to Stiles, Lydia always seemed to have magical powers.

They walked in silence for a little while longer before Stiles' stabbed leg gave out for a second and he stumbled, cursing. He let go of Lydia's hand but managed to grab her arm to steady himself before he fell.

"Are you okay?" Lydia asked, startled. "You're sweating."

Stiles' answer to that question was most definitely _no, _but he wasn't about to tell Lydia that. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I just need to sleep for like _a week _and maybe bathe in some ice for a couple days. Oh, and a _really_ good therapist."

Lydia helped him stand back up properly. She looked like she wanted to walk on again, but suddenly a question slipped from Stiles before he could stop it. "Why did she do it?"

Lydia shook her head slowly, uncomprehending. "Who?"

"Jaymie. Why would she just-"

Stiles found he couldn't really finish that sentence, so he mimed stabbing himself in the stomach.

Lydia looked down, frowning. Her voice was soft and defeated once more. "I don't know."

Suddenly, he found himself getting angry. "Seriously though, she had to do it right in front of us? She just decides to come outside and look me right in the eye while she fucking-"

"I don't know why, Stiles!" Lydia screamed. She looked on the verge of tears as she placed a hand on her forehead and turned away from him.

It seemed Lydia wasn't quite able to keep her panic contained any longer. As usual, Stiles knew it would show itself at some point. What _didn't _he know about the girl? Besides all of her secret talents and abilities that only show themselves at the most convenient of times. He moved towards her, but she put out a hand, telling him to stop.

"Lydia-"

"Why does this _happen_?" Lydia asked. She let out a sob, and Stiles moved forward this time whether she liked it or not.

She was still covering her face with her hand, but Stiles knew there were tears there. He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her strawberry blonde head.

They swayed there for a long moment not saying anything, and eventually the crying was over and she pulled away looking like she hadn't cried at all.

And they just walked on, holding hands again. Stiles didn't understand their weird, sporadically emotional relationship, but God did he love it.

* * *

They were hot, sticky, exhausted, starving and extremely dehydrated when they finally reached town. They both recognized the place. They both knew how to get to the vet's office from here. This was familiar territory, and Lydia almost passed out with relief. They would find Scott and Derek soon. They would find refuge, and Stiles would hopefully get proper treatment.

The only problem was that the vet's office was still an hour's walk away, and they weren't alone this time. People were all around them, and while Lydia could get by as a once-attractive hobo with awful personal hygiene, Stiles would draw concern from onlookers. He was sickly pale and sweating more than the mild weather should cause a person to sweat. Not to mention the bloody bandages on his arms and the even bloodier bandage around his leg. He also still had bruises on his face from the incident before the kidnapping.

Plus, what if they were recognized? If someone from their school saw them and immediately called the cops because no regular human beings should look this exhausted and injured, they would be in deep shit. They couldn't get the cops involved, that was already decided.

If Mr. Stilinski found out...well, they would hopefully be able to convince him to drop the subject, even with the physical and mental state his son would be in when he got home.

For now, they would find Scott and Derek and rest wherever they had made their so-called underground tunnel. When they were somewhat sane and healthy, they would go home.

And, well, they haven't gotten farther than that on their plan. The plan was sketchy, it was stupid, it was-

"This is risky," Stiles said, his voice hoarse from dehydration. They stood in the opening of trees looking out on to a road lined with shops and people. They were partially hidden by the shade of the trees, but they would be clearly visible when they stepped out.

Lydia moved in front of Stiles and motioned her hands upwards. "Come on."

Stiles just stared at her blankly. "What?"

"Take your shirt off, dumbo. We'll tie it around your leg so that way you won't look like you've been beaten to death. You'll only look like a guy with _awful _fashion sense."

"Lydia, I've got bandages around my chest too. He scratched the shit out of my back as well, remember?"

Lydia put her face in her hands and groaned. "Alright," she said, raising her hands in defeat. "You'll just have to keep behind me and hide as best you can. Blend in. Which means you have to stop limping."

Stiles' mouth fell open, indignant. "You make it sound _so_ easy."

"Do you want to attract attention?"

Stiles was grumbling something about being in extreme pain for an hour, but he was a trooper. He was still able to make sarcastic remarks, and that was a good sign.

Lydia grabbed his arm in a comforting gesture, but she quickly pulled back. "Stiles, you're burning up."

"Forget about it, okay? Let's just keep going," Stiles insisted, trying very hard not to look her in the eyes. He began to walk out of the clearing with a small limp that was obviously causing him pain to hide. Lydia ran to walk in front of him, trying to shield his bloodied figure from the eyes of onlookers.

Her exhaustion left her in a position where she couldn't really analyse her true feelings for Stiles. She knew she had kissed him, and she had liked it, and she didn't regret it at all. She knew what Stiles had been through, and how he did it all to prevent anything happening to Lydia. She knew that when she touched him, she felt a little jolt in her heart because all she could think about was their time lying in the field together, and his hands in her hair. She also knew that this jump from Jackson to Stiles was overwhelming, but in only four days, her and Stiles' relationship had become more profound than anything she had ever experienced with Jackson. Or anyone.

It was the beginning of what was going to be a very long walk.

* * *

They had always joked about having an underground lair and becoming a bunch of creepy, cliche fairy tale werewolves.

Well, yeah, they made an underground lair.

After all the events that had happened, Scott and Derek knew that they were running low on safe places to hide. Dr. Deaton had told them that there was a cellar behind the vet's office, but that it was small. That was no problem for the werewolves, because they had punched holes through the walls of the cellar and rebuilt it to fit their personal needs.

It was beautiful, really. They put a couch down there and everything and it was perfectly safe from unwanted supernatural creatures...for now.

Scott was headed to the lair with a crushed feeling inside of him, because for the millionth time, Allison had told him that she heard nothing of Stiles nor Lydia. They'd been missing for almost five days now. Stiles' dad had put an APB out on both of them, and it was no secret that the Sheriff was worried sick, especially since his son had been kidnapped from the Lacrosse field only a day before he was kidnapped again. He would hardly speak to Scott and tell him if he'd found anything, and so Scott felt helpless. They had found Stiles' jeep with broken windows and wide open doors.

Stiles and Lydia had been riding together, and so they must have been taken to the same place. Scott had tried to track both of them by scent. Hell, even Derek and Isaac had tried to help.

Nothing.

Where could they have possibly been taken? And by who?

Scott arrived at the metal door in the ground behind the vet's office. It was locked, which was not for keeping other werewolves out, but more for keeping nosy humans out. Scott unlocked it, stepped down onto the ladder, re-locked it, and then made the nine foot jump down below. Werewolves didn't need ladders.

The lair/cellar/cave thing was lit up by a _lot _of candles, which gave a very eerie feel to it. As Scott made his way into the 300 square foot cement room, he sagged down onto the black leather couch he had gotten from a thrift shop.

"Allison hasn't heard anything yet," Scott said to the back of Derek's head. Derek was just standing, staring at the candlelight flickering on the wall like the brooding hunk of werewolf that he was.

"I can't think of any werewolf who would want to take them. Or _why_. And I'd really like to know where Erica and Boyd are. And where the hell _Jackson_ went," Derek said. He was mostly talking to himself

"Erica and Boyd can take care of themselves. But if Stiles and Lydia were taken by some kind of supernatural thing, then I think we should be a little worried, Derek."

Derek spun around. "There's no _point _in being worried, Scott. There's nothing else you can do, and you're not helping them any by sulking around Beacon Hills."

Scott opened his mouth and shook his head at Derek, basically asking him what the hell was wrong with him and why he was being so insensitive.

But Derek just grounded his teeth and turned back around, hands in his pockets.

Stiles was right. He really was a sourwolf.

The thought made him smile for a second, but it quickly faded. Scott didn't want to underestimate the guy, but Stiles said it himself - sarcasm was his only weapon. That weapon wouldn't last very long if Stiles was in a bad situation, _especially _if Lydia was with him. When Stiles felt as if he had to protect Lydia, his self-importance dwindled down to 0%, and if Lydia was threatened, Scott was sure that Stiles would sacrifice himself.

He shook the thought and told himself to stop being so negative. He was getting antsy and was about to get up and go searching again when a voice yelled down to the cellar.

"Scott! Derek! You better come up here!"

It was Dr. Deaton. Scott and Derek shared a questioning look for a second, but they quickly climbed up the ladder. Dr Deaton stood facing them, but there was no time for small talk. He waved them into the vet office's backdoor.

And what a sight they saw.

"What the hell?" Scott exclaimed.

Lydia had her arm around Stiles' waist while he leaned on the counter, panting and sweating. His face was pale and he looked about ready to keel over. Lydia's hair was an absolute mess, and there was makeup smudged down her face in various patterns. Her eyes were wide as her gaze skipped from Stiles to Scott to Derek to Dr. Deaton.

Scott had never seen a more exhausted-looking couple of people in his entire life.

He was too overwhelmed with what he was seeing to truly realize _what he was seeing. _Stiles was bleeding. His arms were wrapped with blood soaked bandages, as well as his leg. His shirt was torn at the back with what looked like claw marks.

Scott swallowed. "Stiles?"

Stiles looked up at him slowly before raising a dirty hand. "Hey."

* * *

**Author's Note: I have never written such a long fic at such a fast pace in my entire life, but that's because I've never had so much support and enthusiasm on one of my works before. Thank you all so much. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint. Again, reviews are so very much appreciated, as they help me improve my work and they help me grow as an author. Ugh, I love you guys! The Teen Wolf/Stydia fandom is amazing! See you next chapter!**


	9. Chapter 9: Road to Recovery

**Author's Note: Alright, so this chapter has a little less Stydia in it, but I hope you like what I've done. I'm thinking there will be a hell of a lot of Stydia in the next chapter, so stay tuned. Oh, by the way, can we all talk about how incredibly attractive Stiles' long hair is this season? Sorry, I'm getting off topic. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Can you get down the ladder?" Scott asked, motioning down the dark pit that was the entrance to the underground werewolf cave.

Stiles, Lydia, Scott and Derek were standing around the entrance, looking at Stiles and waiting for him to make the next move. Lydia and Scott were kind of hovering around him ready to grab him because Stiles was sure he didn't look too stable at the moment. It was a rather uncomfortable situation because 1) it was taking all of Stiles willpower not to fall down on his ass right now and take a nap 2) he knew he would have to explain what happened to Scott and Derek, and that they won't be too happy knowing the _reason _why he and Lydia were kidnapped and 3) Stiles didn't really think he could get down that ladder. Thankfully, Scott wasn't asking any questions yet.

"Yeah, I'm good," he lied, waving him off.

He half-limped towards the door and stepped down on the ladder with his good leg. _Here it goes, _he thought as he placed his injured leg on the ladder. He tried not to grimace and let out a cacophony of swear words as he made his way down, as he could feel the others' eyes on him. He couldn't tell if he was masking his pain to keep them from worrying, or to convince himself that he was alright when he knew deep down that he really wasn't.

He made his slow and painful journey down the ladder when he gingerly placed his feet on the cement floor below. It was hot like hell down here.

Unless that was just his fever.

As Stiles placed a hand on the wall and looked around the small cellar, the others managed to make their way down the ladder. Lydia seemed to be migrating towards Stiles, and Stiles couldn't help but wonder where she was at all times. It was strange being in the same room as two people who had absolutely no idea what he and Lydia had been through, and so he and Lydia kept close to each other for comfort.

Lydia was next to him the moment she touched the ground, her arm brushing against his. "Are you okay?" she whispered, obviously not wanting Scott and Derek to hear. Stiles knew that she was whispering because she wanted the truth, and she knew he wasn't going to give it to her with the two werewolves watching. Stiles was sure that Scott and Derek had their werewolf hearing on, and that it wouldn't matter if she whispered or not, but he decided to tell her the truth anyways.

He shook his head ever so slightly as a wave of heat and pain rushed through him again. Lydia grabbed his hand, squeezed it, and then quickly let go as Scott and Derek entered the cellar. They had enough questions to answer, and so they didn't need to be caught holding hands too.

"Yeah, um, I'm just gonna..." Stiles pointed to the couch with two fingers before flopping down onto it. He had to grimace a little as his sore back hit the leather, but otherwise, it felt incredibly nice to get off his feet. Lydia made her way over and sat down in front of the couch so her head was by Stiles' legs.

"Do you two want to tell us what the hell happened to you?" Derek asked, folding his arms across his broad chest.

"Look, Derek, we really just want to-"

"No, Stiles," Derek said firmly. "Who did it?"

"Derek-" Scott began, but Derek cut him off with a hand and Scott began to pout.

But Stiles really couldn't answer that question right now as he felt sticky and uncomfortable with sweat. His eyes would hardly stay open. He wanted to grab a chainsaw and chop his arms as they were burning worse than they were before now.

"Scott, you really...you have to do something about this," Stiles said, holding his arms up.

Lydia was looking at him with sad eyes. She looked sick, and was a lot quieter than usual. Stiles really didn't want her to worry like that, but a bond had formed between them in the field that neither of them could shake. Stiles still felt the need to protect her with every fiber of his being, and it seemed Lydia was beginning to feel the same way.

Scott moved towards him and began to unravel the bed sheets around Stiles' arms. Stiles tried to sit up a little to see the damage beneath them, but he only got a few inches. As the layer of bedsheet around each arm became thinner and thinner, Stiles could see Scott's face wrinkling with the fear of what was to come. It probably smelt pretty bad too for a werewolf's nose.

And then they were revealed. Stiles almost puked. Burn marks crisscrossed each forearm, red and raw and definitely infected. They still bled a little, and even the air around them was enough to aggravate the wounds and make them sting like an absolute bitch. Stiles groaned and let himself sink down into the couch, closing his eyes. Yeah, that was _really _gonna scar.

"_Stiles_..." Scott said the work like it was the most mesmerizing thing in the whole world. "What _happened _to you?"

Stiles didn't even want to _look _at Lydia. Who knew what was going through her mind right now, and he could swear he could hear her taking deep breaths.

"Look, buddy, I'll tell you, I swear. But right now, I just...I can't."

Scott looked at his best friend, and he looked deeply upset and like he was about to object, but then he just nodded sadly.

"Hey, Scott?" Lydia's voice. Stiles looked towards her, but she wasn't looking at him. She had her legs pulled up to her and her forehead resting in her palms. Her voice trembled and was way too soft when she spoke. "Do you think we could get some water or something?"

"Oh!" Scott said, jumping up. "Yeah, of course. Um, Derek, do you think you could...?"

Derek's face was like a stone, and he still hadn't moved from his position against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, but when Scott turned to him, Derek gave a solid nod.

"And other stuff too like food and bandages and-"

"I've got it, Scott," Derek snapped, and he left up the ladder with the agility of a werewolf.

"Sourwolf," Stiles mumbled.

He caught Scott's eye and saw his mouth twitch until he was full on grinning. Stiles snorted out a small laugh.

"You two are ridiculous," said Lydia, and Stiles was overjoyed to hear her voice sounding a little more normal and condescending.

Scott smiled at her, but not with as much happiness as he had before. Stiles guessed that seeing Lydia looking so ratty and exhausted kind of put a downer on everything because that was definitely not how she normally looked. Her tangled hair was almost a little more depressing than Stiles' arms.

"Hey, uh, Lydia? Did you want me to take you home? Back to your parents or-"

"No," Lydia said, almost like she was offended. She got up from her spot against the couch and folded her arms, looking between the two boys. "Look, boys, I can take care of myself. And I'm not leaving here."

And then she proceeded to take a seat on the couch so that her lower back was nuzzling against Stiles' good leg. Scott was looking at her with raised eyebrows.

"What?" Lydia asked, defensive.

But Scott didn't answer; he only looked at Stiles asking a silent question. _Are you two...? _

Stiles looked at him, curling his bottom lip and shrugging, like he didn't know what Scott was talking about. Even that small movement caused him pain and he felt lightheaded, even lying down. His temperature was fluctuating dramatically, because it was getting extremely cold in the cellar now, and he was shivering.

"Stiles?" Scott asked. He wasn't joking around anymore; he moved forwards. He put a hand on Stiles' forehead.

"Seriously, Scott? You're acting like my Dad," he said, trying to sound lighthearted but his voice was beginning to quiver with his shaking. The mention of his Dad brought an ache to his heart, and wanted nothing more than to see the man again.

Scott didn't say anything, but through Stiles' heavy eyelids he could see him turn a questioning, panicked gaze towards Lydia, and Lydia shaking her head solemnly. They were speaking in code because they probably didn't want Stiles to know how hot he felt under Scott's hand.

His vision was blurring and his eyes closed. He could hear Scott trying to pull him out of his fatigued state, but no such luck there.

He felt a softer, smaller hand grab his and he wanted to squeeze it, to tell Lydia that he was fine. But soon enough, Stiles drifted off into a dreamless and hectic state of unconsciousness.

* * *

Lydia meant what she said. She wouldn't leave Stiles' side, no matter how badly she wanted to go home.

That's why she had just woken up from her third nap in the 12 hours since Stiles had passed out. It wasn't exactly a comfortable position: her legs were folded underneath her and her head was leaning on the couch next to Stiles' legs. She felt a little better after eating two burgers and drinking three water bottles. Derek had brought tons more, but Stiles never woke up long enough to eat, though he did drink a little. He was never fully conscious and Lydia found herself kind of missing his sarcastic remarks and belittled comments about his poor health.

However, she was glad Stiles was asleep when she had wrapped up his arms. She remembered burning her hand on the stove once and having to wrap it up, and if that wasn't an unpleasant experience, she didn't know what was. Dr. Deaton did his leg, which wasn't as bad as the burn but had to be sewn up.

Dr. Deaton was only a vet. Lydia was only an extremely tired teenage girl who had been to hell and back. Scott was just a compassionate best friend who just so happened to be a werewolf, and Derek had temporarily turned into the official errand runner of the group.

But they helped Stiles on the road to recovery, and Lydia had tried to avoid the werewolves' questions for as long as she could.

Her spirits were lifted, however, when her best friend made her way down the ladder.

"Lydia?" she said, almost breathless.

Lydia got up from her spot by the couch and went over to hug Allison. They didn't have many of these emotional moments, as their friendship usually revolved around boys and clothes, but not this time. Lydia felt a lot better seeing this familiar face.

When they broke apart, Allison smiled at her, but then immediately turned to Scott and punched him in the arm. "Why didn't you call me sooner?"

Scott looked defensive. "I was kind of busy, Allison!"

Allison's gaze moved over to the couch behind Lydia, and Lydia turned around with her until they were all looking at Stiles with a pressing sadness in the air. Stiles was always the high-spirited goofball of a rather depressing group, and so it wasn't right to see him pale and feverish on the couch like that.

Lydia resisted the urge to cringe. She knew that Allison would have questions and that Scott would be right by her side, seeking answers.

But she couldn't hold on to the answers forever.

"What...what happened to him?" Allison asked, looking to Scott and Lydia, hoping someone would tell her the truth.

Lydia sighed. "Can we sit down?"

Scott perked up at that, and Lydia made her way to her spot by Stiles' feet while Scott and Allison sat against the opposite wall, bracing themselves.

"Lydia, I just want to know who. And _why,_" Scott said.

Lydia's heart dropped. Scott wouldn't like the answer to the _why _part of that question, but then again, Lydia was curious to know if what Jaymie said to Stiles about her daughter was true.

She took a deep breath and decided to rip off the band aid quickly. "They said they were a pack of betas and they were going to torture us until we told them where you and Derek were."

Scott's eyebrows furrowed, whereas Allison shrank in to herself, as if sucking in a deep breath. She didn't seem to take her sad eyes off of Stiles. "Me and De...why would anyone want to know where me and Derek are?"

"There were two women - Heather and Jaymie - and two men - Raynes and some other guy. I think it was some kind of vendetta thing because before we escaped, Jaymie told Stiles that you killed her daughter."

Scott's face was blank for a second and Allison tore her gaze from Stiles to stare at Scott, horrified.

"_You _as in Derek, right?" Scott asked.

"No, Scott. _You,_" Lydia pressed. She understood that Scott was probably totally confused right now, but she also didn't want this questioning process to last forever.

"No, that can't be right. I didn't..."

But Scott's eyes widened as he remembered something. He looked up at Lydia, but it seemed he was mostly talking to himself than to her. "That little girl. There was a little werewolf girl last summer who jumped me and Derek in the forest. I never thought of that...we never saw them again..."

Scott shook his head slowly and turned his gaze towards Stiles, looking guiltier than any of the myriad times he tried to apologize to Allison. "They did that to him because they were looking for me?"

A bubble of laughter escaped Lydia before she could stop it. She didn't want to get angry at Scott or blame him for anything, but it came uncontrolled as she thought about Stiles screaming and mumbling unintelligence as the poison coursed through his veins. "Scott, those burn marks were the least of what they did to him. They injected him with some kind of poison. I'm guessing it was made to specifically target the hypothalamus and amygdala - the parts of the brain responsible for fear, memories and emotional responses."

"Lydia, what did it _do _to him," Scott asked, panicked.

Lydia didn't even have to think about whether to lie or tell the truth. Stiles' experiences in that cell were something between him and her, and she wouldn't share it with anyone else. "He didn't tell me what it did specifically." She looked towards Stiles who wasn't shivering as badly but was still sweating under the blanket. Her voice was hollow when she spoke. "But it made him scream."


	10. Chapter 10: Nitwit

**Author's Note: Okay guys, so unfortunately, this is going to be the last chapter before the epilogue (by the way, don't skip the epilogue! I will be filling in some loopholes, showing how Stiles and Lydia are coping and also adding in some Stydia fluff, so I hope you'll like it.) Again, I really really appreciate all the support you've shown me, and this will ****_not _****be my last Stydia/Teen Wolf story! So please follow me so you can check out some other Stydia stories that I have brewing! I hope you enjoy this chapter and the epilogue that will be uploaded soon. I love you all!**

* * *

Stiles awoke to the sound of a hushed conversation.

"You're sure you're okay?" That was Allison's voice.

"Better now." That was Lydia, speaking with a kind of nonchalance that shouldn't be there after having been kidnapped.

He opened his eyes slowly and was very glad that he was still in the cellar. The dim light of candles in the corner was all his eyes could handle at the moment. Allison and Lydia were huddled against the wall opposite Stiles' couch. They sat close together with their legs pulled up to their chests, knees nudging each other. Stiles was glad to see Allison here - he knew that Lydia needed a friend.

He draped an arm over his forehead, turning to stare at the ceiling. The fresh bandages on his forearms were a relief - they seemed to soothe the burns underneath. The cellar was humid and smelt of sweat and dirt, but also the pleasant smell of flames coming from the candles.

He noticed something new about the room; a pile sat in the corner by the entrance. As Stiles focused his eyes he could see metal gleaming in the candle light. Dozens of sharp arrows were lying neatly in the corner, and the distinct shape of a bow leaned against the wall.

"Jesus, that really sets the mood," Stiles croaked.

"Stiles," Lydia breathed, her voice sounding relieved. She uncurled from her position on the floor and crawled over to kneel near his face. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. You know, Lydia, you could have went home and changed or something. You smell awful," Stiles said.

Lydia crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows. "I could say the same about you."

Stiles smiled and winked. Allison appeared, standing behind Lydia. "Hey, Stiles," she said with a warm smile.

"Allison," he said in greeting, trying to sit up. He widened his eyes and grabbed Lydia's shoulder. "Whoa, head rush."

"Look, just slow down, okay? Don't be an idiot," Lydia said, trying to push him back down, but he was up now. He swung into a sitting position.

"Where's Scott and Derek? Someone's really gotta get me the time of day cause I feel like I've slept for a year," Stiles said.

"It's been about 14 hours since we first got here, according to Allison's watch. It's 2 o'clock in the morning," Lydia said, matter-of-factly.

"Scott's out with Derek. Isaac got into trouble or something, so I told them I'd stay here with you and Lydia," Allison explained.

"Oh, so I guess those are just for extra protection?" Stiles nudged his head towards the bow and arrows.

Allison shrugged, looking a little sheepish. "Old habits."

The conversation was lighthearted, but there was a kind of tension in the air that said that Lydia had told Allison what had happened, and she was trying not to let it show on her face.

But Stiles wasn't one to be discreet.

"So, Lydia told you all about the shit that went down, huh?" Stiles asked.

Allison seemed to let out a breath, relieved to break the awkward tension. "Yeah," she said simply.

Stiles looked to Lydia, and her big green eyes told him that she hadn't told her _everything. _Stiles was grateful, but he felt an uncomfortable anxiety thinking about the subject. He rung his hands.

"Hey, um, I'm gonna go call Scott and figure out where they are," said Allison. She gave a little half smile for Stiles, and then sent a knowing look towards Lydia. Stiles wasn't exactly sure what this meant in girl code, but he felt as if Allison was leaving them alone for a reason.

She made her way up the ladder and Lydia and Stiles just kind of looked at each other for a bit before Lydia spoke up.

"I dreamt about her," she said, barely above a whisper. She was still on her knees in front of Stiles, even if there was a free spot beside him on the couch. She picked at her fingers as her hands rested on Stiles' knee.

"Who?" Stiles asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Heather. And Jaymie. I don't want to see them every time I close my eyes," she said, shaking her head solemnly and moving her gaze down to her hands.

"Come here," Stiles said simply, moving over and patting the couch. Lydia was hesitant at first as her eyes looked him up and down, but eventually she stood up and sat next to Stiles, her leg brushing his. "You know there's always a silver lining, right? For example, it'll probably be a wicked story to tell your grandkids."

"Yeah, well," Lydia took a deep breath. "At this rate I'll probably be mauled by one of my werewolf boyfriends before I ever get as far as having grandchildren."

Stiles was hesitant to say his next sentence, as it strongly implied something that he wasn't so sure was established yet. "Well, _I'm_ not a werewolf."

Lydia looked up at him. God, her eyes were wide and sad with some deep-rooted fear and yet, they were still as beautiful as ever. Their faces were close as he looked down at her. He couldn't help his eyes darting up and down between her eyes and her lips. Had he really been kissed by her less than a day ago?

"Stiles..."

He interrupted her. He really didn't want to hear this right now. "Yeah, I know, Lydia. I get it. Heat of the moment, right? You still have feelings for Jackson-"

"_No_, Stiles. No. You know, screw _Jackson_. I saw...I saw how you protected me in there, and not just for some _desire _to be a hero or some inflated ego of yours, but because...I'm _done_ now," Lydia said, and she looked him deep in the eyes before saying this last part. "I'm done pretending to be a nitwit."

Stiles was reminded of that night at the dance when he had somehow found the courage to say those exact words to Lydia. _Once you're done pretending to be a nitwit..._

And she remembered that. Stiles went home that night feeling like an idiot for yelling at her like that, and all the while Lydia went home with _his _words seared into her mind. _His _words. Like they actually mattered to someone like her.

For once in his life, Stiles was speechless. The kind of speechlessness that only Lydia Martin had the power to inflict on him.

So they just kind of stared at each other for a while until Stiles regained some of his words, if still a bit dumbfounded.

"Um, hey, you know, I'm feeling a lot better now if you..."

He was sure that he'd startled her now and that she would recoil from him. But instead she had consideration on her face, as if weighing her options. "Allison will probably be back in soon-"

Alright, so she hadn't said no. And who gave a shit if the entire population of Beacon Hills High walked into the cellar. He grabbed her face and he was the one to initiate the kiss this time, and shit, he wanted to do that since he had first started developing hormones in the third grade.

It was just like the one they had had in the field, but better, because this time Stiles could think a little more coherently and he was able to pour every single thought of her into one little action. How relieved he was when he saw her walk out of that forest on such a cold night. How she knocked on his door only days ago, crying freely in front of him like she would never have done in front of anyone else. How confident she was when she walked down the halls and the way her hair...

He put his hands through her hair and she put her arms around his neck until the positioning was kind of awkward sitting on the couch and so they had to get up on their knees to make it work. Eventually, somehow, Lydia ended up lying on the couch and Stiles was on top of her, just barely touching.

And then they rolled off the couch and that kind of ruined the mood a little.

Lydia let out a seriously adorable half-laugh, half-snort thing as she rolled off of him, lying next to him on the cold cement floor.

* * *

"Christ, Stiles, it's like three o'clock in the morning," Lydia said, still a little out of breath. She turned her head to look at him as they lay on the floor. "_Where _did that come from?"

"What, you think you're the first girl I've ever done that with? _Please_," said Stiles, smugly.

But Lydia just raised her eyebrows and she had this way of coxing the truth out of everyone.

"Okay, maybe you were," he said, deflated.

Lydia wasn't going to say it out loud, but the fact that that was one of the first times Stiles had _really _kissed someone kind of shocked her. He was almost better than Jackson in some respects. But he was _definitely _better than Jackson when it came to passion.

They were still lying on the floor with the blanket tangled around Stiles' feet when Scott walked back in the cellar.

He stopped dead once his feet the floor, and Lydia and Stiles quickly sat up and shoved their backs against the couch, Stiles' kicking the blanket off of his feet.

"I knew it," Scott said quietly, walking into the room with an awestruck look on his face. "I _so _knew it, Stiles!"

"Scott, really, can we be adults about this?" Stiles said, putting his hands out pleadingly.

"Sorry, I'll shut up," Scott said, holding his hands up apologetically but keeping the proud smirk on his face. "Oh hey, how are you feeling by the way?"

"Fine," Stiles said with a shrug, and Lydia moved her hand so that she was holding his.

Scott moved over to the candles with a lighter and lit up some of the ones that had gone out. "Cool. Um...do you think maybe you're ready to go home? To your dad, I mean? You too, Lydia. Everyone is freaking out and I really can't keep lying to them."

Stiles took a deep breath beside her, and Lydia squeezed his hand, looking up at him. He looked sick at the mention of his father, and she couldn't blame him. The sheriff would have a hard time taking a look at his arms and not pressing charges.

"You know I think I have to tell him, Scott. About everything," Stiles said.

Scott sighed and moved away from the candles to lean against the wall opposite them. "Well, maybe that's for the better anyways. Now that the Kanima's gone, maybe things won't be so dangerous for him."

Lydia was surprised at how much she agreed with Scott's statement.

"He's right, Stiles," she said. "He could probably help too."

Stiles tensed a little at that. "Nope. No way. I'll tell him, but that's no reason for him to jump out into middle of the battlefield."

"Stiles-"

"_No, _Scott. Just...no," he snapped. His eyes were getting that faraway look again, like he had back at the cellar when he was poisoned. There was no doubt in Lydia's mind that the thought of implicating his Dad in all of this was reminding Stiles of something he'd seen when he was hallucinating.

"Scott, leave it," she said, on the verge of panicking. She didn't want Stiles to remember it, and she didn't want to have to watch him do so. Again.

Scott looked like he was about to say something else, but he faltered under Lydia's glare. He looked at his best friend sadly just as Stiles seemed to emerge from something, like someone coming up for air after being underwater.

"Yeah, I gotta go home," Stiles said, nodding his head. He looked down at Lydia. "And so do you, Lydia. You have to sleep."

"Okay," Lydia said softly. She squeezed his hand once more before standing and helping Stiles up along with her.

Lydia didn't care that Scott was standing there watching. She was a little past caring about what others thought of their relationship now. She kissed him again - just a small one to give him some strength and comfort when facing his father.

And maybe give some to herself too.


	11. Epilogue

One month ago, Stiles Stilinski told his dad that his best friend was a werewolf. They had sat at the table together in the dim light of their dining room, and what had started out with an explanation of the supernaturalism of Beacon Hills had turned into a full-on confessional. He told him the truth about everything, to fill in the holes in Stiles' life that his dad had so graciously decided to let slide when he became suspicious. He told him about Gerard beating him up and why. He showed him his arms and tried to ignore the angry tears that filled the sheriff's eyes. He told him what had really happened to Lydia on the night of the dance. He told him what had become of Jackson Whittemore. He told him who had really kidnapped Stiles and why it was imperative his dad didn't get involved.

All of this and more was confessed in the space of two hours sitting at a dinner table. When he was done, Stiles was on the verge of tears, whereas his dad had succumbed to some state of shock. None of what Stiles was saying could have been a lie, as it made more sense than the information his dad had thought to be true. Somehow, the fact that his dad had no choice but to believe Stiles' stories made everything so much worse. He wished that the sheriff could have dismissed his son with a wave of his hand and a snort, and they could go on living their lives in lies and ignorance.

But he believed him. There was no going back.

And the only thing Stiles could never mention to his dad's face was what Heather had really done to him. He'd dismissed it as a few burns and a stab wound, but he would never say the true circumstances of what he had endured. The poison that ran through his veins. The hallucinations.

When he had finished, the conversation had gone something like this:

"Well," said the sheriff.

"Yeah," said Stiles with a tearful laugh.

"And how long...?"

"Since Scott was bitten by the Alpha. Like, um...two years ago."

"Two years-" his dad gave a bark of laughter and rubbed a hand down his face.

"I'm sorry, Dad-"

"Don't apologize, Stiles. Don't. I just...you're okay, right? I mean, you're holding up after..."

"I'm okay, Dad. Besides, it'll make for some pretty cool battle wounds, won't it?" Stiles smiled, holding out his bandaged arms.

But his dad wasn't in the mood for humor. He just stared at his son's arms and Stiles' lowered them slowly, deciding that the lightheartedness could wait for another day. Stiles wanted his dad to laugh, to joke about how crazy it was that werewolves were running around Beacon Hills. But he knew that the sheriff's mind was spinning. How could he possibly continue lying to everyone in the police department about the nature of the strange animal attacks? How could he ever get used to seeing Scott McCall's face again? How could he look at his son without being reminded of the five days of agony he went through without him?

"Just get cleaned up, alright? And get some sleep and I'll...I'll see you in the morning," said his dad, and Stiles let him leave the table.

But before he left completely, he stopped next to Stiles and placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. He said very quietly; "I'm glad you're okay, son."

And Stiles nodded and tried to hold back the tears that wanted to overwhelm him while he listened to his dad's heavy footsteps make their way up the stairs.

* * *

Lydia was happy. Incredibly, after all the absolute hell she went through exactly one month ago, she was happy. Stiles loved her unconditionally, that hadn't changed. Lydia didn't need time to get over Jackson, because truthfully, her love for Jackson was nothing to get over compared to the feelings she shared with Stiles. She didn't want to wait to be with him because, unbelievably still, she loved Stiles Stilinski. It wasn't a stupid teenage relationship; it was something far deeper and connected by some part of her soul that she developed back in the asylum.

So, they were together. And she loved it. So, obviously, she was happy. She was able to go back to school only a week after her ordeal. Her parents let her stay home for however long she wanted after finding out from the sheriff that she had been "kidnapped by bandits that were now found dead", but truthfully, lying in bed only allowed her to think over everything that happened to her. She wanted to dress up, to do her hair, to go to school and be with Stiles and Allison and even Scott.

But Stiles hadn't come to school until three weeks after the ordeal.

His injuries needed time to heal so as to not draw attention from other students, and Lydia was pretty sure Stiles wasn't exactly mentally healed either. Would he ever be? Plus, after finding out that he had told his father everything - like, _everything_ -Lydia was sure that the father-son relationship would need some time to heal as well.

But when Stiles finally did come back to school, all of his friends were there to help him out, and Stiles was a trooper as he always was. Even Harris' taunting and bullying seemed to make him happier.

Occasional kisses from Lydia didn't seem to do too much damage either.

Lydia would sneak into Stiles' room at night and try her best to help him through the panic attacks that plagued him every night. They never got any better as the weeks progressed, but Stiles seemed more than grateful to have Lydia there with him, and she felt good knowing that just holding his hand and lying in bed calmed him down significantly.

So he was healing. And Lydia was healing. And they were both happy to see that even a month after being kidnapped together, the bond that formed between them wasn't getting any weaker as they morphed back into their old lives. It also gave them some comfort to know that Derek had tracked down and killed Heather, who Stiles had never killed after slowing her down.

Scott had a lot of fun teasing them when they held hands under the table at lunch or when they were caught kissing in the hallway. Lydia would smack him and Allison would scold him, but Scott McCall couldn't seem to get over the fact that his best friend was dating the girl he'd been gushing over since third grade. But when the werewolf didn't think anyone was looking, Lydia could see guilt in his eyes after talking to Stiles. She knew he felt guilty ever since he had realized his actions were the cause of Stiles' suffering. Lydia no longer blamed him, but Scott always seemed to be going over the night he killed the werewolf girl in his head. She didn't know whether he would ever forgive himself, though a part of her really hoped he did. And Allison was there to help him do it.

And so, the aftermath of the ordeal took some getting used to from everyone in Beacon Hills, but that was to be expected as the news of their kidnapping and new found relationship was getting around more and more every day.

After all, Stiles Stilinski's irrevocable crush on Lydia Martin was known pretty much worldwide, right? Only now, Lydia could truly share the feeling.

That, and so much more.

* * *

**Author's Note: (PLEASE READ) So, that's it, people! I thought really hard about how to write the epilogue to kind of give everyone a sense of finality without being too "fairy tale happy ending." I know, it was a short epilogue, but if it helps you move on, then it was a success. I'm so proud of this piece and all of the fans, and if you're feeling up to it, I'd really love a final review from my readers to let me know how they felt overall. It helps me do better next time, and it also makes me really happy ;) It's sad parting with a story, but happy readers make it bittersweet! Thank you all so much, and stay tuned for some more Teen Wolf fics in the (near?) future. **


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